Ghosts
by Cynlee
Summary: Several months later Mikey is still mourning Victor. Leo and Raph have yet to go topside. Splinter is a regular prison guard. And Don is enjoying it all with popcorn to boot! Splinter's description! Thanks, Splinter!
1. Chapter 1

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Hello! I am foolishly attempting another adventure! I've gotten so used to writing Chibi that I fear any attempt at "older" turtles, but I'm giving it a shot anyway! I am trying to stay away from the TV show, but I will borrow a few things, like the fact that the Dragons are very high-tech now, as well as the fact that Karai is going to be after the guys.

TMNT, Hun, Karai, etc. are the property of Mirage. I triple-checked my stocking at Christmas, but I didn't find anything in there that changed the ownership to me. Sigh.

**Conditions**

Mikey sat on the ledge of the abandoned building, staring at the various city lights from the surrounding buildings that were shining down on and being reflected by the water of the river. He watched as they danced and shimmied and blurred in his vision. Tears of cold as well as depression occasionally added to the brilliance of the sight, but he stared nonetheless, watching as if it were the greatest show around.

It was pretty cold out, but he'd put on coat, hat, mittens and such to help keep him warm. At least it wasn't snowing. The sky was clouded up with a coming storm, but so far it had held off.

He shifted a bit; his right leg was going to sleep from sitting for so long, yet despite the biting tingling that began to coarse through it as it came "awake", he wasn't ready to head home just yet.

It had been several months since Leo and Raph had nearly died from their final battle with Bishop. Both were getting stronger, but both were also not 100 yet. That, coupled with the bone-numbing cold winter that had settled in had kept his brothers undergrounded, and they were feeling the effects of enforced imprisonment. They were convinced that Crime was rampant because they could not get topside, no matter how much Don or he told them that things were pretty quiet due to the long cold snap. It was true; crime seemed to be down, affected by the freezing temperatures.

Yet things were happening.

The Dragons had become something more than just another street gang. Hun had managed to take his years of experience of working with the Shredder and had built a going concern-- a profitable going concern, one that was beginning to rival the mob and the Foot for sheer profitability. He had even managed, despite the number of high-profile capers, to build and maintain an aura of respectability-- another lesson that Shredder had driven home to this former pupil.

As for the Foot-- Karai had been hard at work rebuilding her father's image to the point where a memorial library bearing Oroku Saki's name had been dedicated with great fanfare. April and Don had scoped it out-- very fancy, very extensive, very culturally "correct"-- the section on Japan alone rivaled anything that was produced in Tokyo itself. Yet they all knew it for what it was-- another "front" for the Foot. Good little dutiful daughter Saki Karai had, over the months and despite the "permanent truce" she had declared, steadily taken more and more control of the organization both in New York as well as "back home". They were profitable once again, and even more "stealthy" than they had been under the Shredder.

Mikey, staring at the water, knew that he was going to have to confront Leo over recent developments. He and Don had come across one of the more recent Foot activities, and despite the "truce" there had been a battle. Mikey and Don had been victorious, but they knew that no real "truce" existed, if indeed it ever had. They had told Splinter of this, but they had kept the news from Raph and Leo-- especially Leo.

Mikey sighed again, absently fingering the paperback copy of "Frankenstein" that he carried deep in the pocket of the heavy jacket he wore. He'd been given it by April to replace the other copy. She had offered to get him a really decent hardcopy, but he'd insisted that a paperback would be better suited to his needs. As the brothers had slowly recovered, as their lives had started getting back to normal, Mikey had more and more brooded over the unfairness of what had happened to Victor.

Created-- created for a specific purpose-- never wanting the life that had been designed for him-- Mikey still could not get over the unfairness of this poor guy's fate. Splinter had tried again and again to comfort him, to explain to him, to bring understanding to him (and, hopefully with it, peace of mind), but Mikey would always come back to the fact that Victor had just wanted to live. He had rebelled against the plans and machinations of Bishop, he had taken control of the life that had been created for him-- and had lost it in the end.

He remembered overhearing Don telling Raph once about the fact that Bishop had managed to come upon the secret of regeneration of vital organs, but had died before he'd fully realized it or developed it. For a brief moment he wondered if Victor could have survived! After all, he was Bishop's clone! If Bishop could have escaped (Don reasoned), he may have recovered. Since Victor was his clone, perhaps he, too, could have regenerated the damaged part of his brain.

"No, he was dead," Mikey whispered hopelessly, remembering that night. "He was dead. You can't come back from the dead."

His feet were becoming numb in the protective boots; it was time to head home.

As he made his lonely way back into the familiar, sour-smelling, shiveringly cold tunnels of his home, he remembered with shame that he still had not properly mourned for Victor. He should give him some sort of memorial, after all. He should do something to honor the memory of this tragic fellow being. He needed to do something...

He reached home without remembering the walk. Inside he could hear the sounds of Leo "working out" and the reprimands of Splinter as he did so. For a moment he smiled, shaking his head, memorials and tragic lives lost forgotten in the knowledge that once again, Raph had tried to sneak out and once again, Leo had tried to distract Splinter so he could!

"You are not ready to go above ground," Splinter was sternly admonishing both Raphael and Leonardo as Mikey entered. He didn't need to see Raph all bundled up to know that he had tried to escape and go topside-- Leo, as usual of late, had been in on it, and had tried to distract Splinter with "over-training". Mike still couldn't believe that proper, rule-following, big brother "Splinter, Jr." would attempt to help Raph in anything like this, but it was true nonetheless. Leo had also tried to escape topside-- many times he and Raph had managed to gear up and almost reach the surface, only to be cut off from their final goal by the parental wrath of Splinter.

"You guys are lucky you don't have ears that stick out," Don had commented the last time Splinter had marched them home. "Otherwise Sensei may have hauled you both in here by them."

"Don, it would have been better than feeling that walking stick sting our backsides every now and then on the walk home," Raph had glowered, absently rubbing his tail from the humiliating experience.

"Sensei, we're both healed! We're both training full-time, we're both more than ready to resume our patrolling," Leo was arguing respectfully, but his words were falling on deaf fatherly ears.

"Until you can defeat me in the dojo, you are not ready to go out of the sewers!" Splinter was adamant.

"But Sensei, NONE of us can defeat you in the dojo!" Raph pointed out truthfully! "Not one of us has ever defeated you! If that's the condition, Leo and me are gonna spend the rest of our lives down here! Please! Just a brief trip to Casey's!"

Splinter, arms crossed, tail slowly lashing, was not to be moved.

"It is too cold," he said, whiskers twitching with subdued anger. "You will come down with some illness. And I know you, Hamato Raphael-- a 'brief trip to Casey's' will turn into a 'let us go bash some skulls'. You are not ready. And I refuse to tend to either of you should you become sick or injured!"

Mikey laughed to himself. Yep, the same old argument! Splinter was convinced that Leo and Raph were both still too weak to venture far from home. As he hung up his coat and put away the rest of his gear, he tried to remember if this was one of the seventeen punishments that Splinter had devised all those months ago.

"Sensei," Don, who had been watching with growing amusement (eating popcorn as if at a movie, no less!) from the couch, interrupted, "Raph has a point. None of us can defeat you in the dojo. May I suggest that they have to defeat both Mikey and me before they can go topside?"

Leo and Raph both looked suddenly hopeful. Both of them gazed longingly and respectfully at their father, and mentally crossed fingers.

"Hmmm," Splinter mused, giving it serious consideration. It was true; he knew that his condition for their being allowed topside was almost impossible for them to surmount. He had known for quite some time, though he also knew he simply could not just change his mind-- after all, his authority as a Sensei, indeed as a Parent was at stake! He could not be perceived as "weak". Donatello, with his timely suggestion, had provided Splinter with a face-saving way around his unreasonable rule. "Yes. Yes, perhaps that would be fairer. Until you can defeat both of your brothers-- in the same session-- you cannot go topside. Thank-you, Donatello. That is an excellent suggestion. You must defeat both of them in the same session."

And he dared either one of them, merely with his glare, to reject this offering.

Leo and Raph exchanged glances-- how hard could it be? After all, they usually dominated in the bouts; it shouldn't be too hard to beat them both in one session-- and then, sweet, sweet freedom!

Leo had missed going topside almost as much as Raph. Of the four he had always preferred remaining below ground, but even he was feeling the claustrophobic effects of not seeing the night sky, of not feeling the biting wind as he raced and leapt from rooftop to rooftop, of not smelling the countless odors of the crowded city as he trained! He would even gladly love a chance to go with Raph and Casey to 'bust some skulls', he was so longing for some real action. He felt that he had grown flabby and careless and was losing his abilities pinned up underground, doing the same katas and exercises and lessons over and over and over.

His left arm was still not up to strength, and sometimes during sword practice he would suddenly drop the katana on some relatively simple move; but he was better! He knew he was better! Splinter just worried too much.

Raph was in better shape than Leo, and had managed to regain his former strength quicker; yet he, too, suffered from unexpected "weakness" every now and then. His body, working beautifully in the dojo, would suddenly remind him with a painful, sharp, unexpected stab or twinge or twitch that he, too, was not completely healed, that he had subjected it to a brutal fight, and it still had not completely forgiven him for doing so.

"Can we start now?" Raph eagerly asked. If he could whip Don and Mikey now, then he'd be able to get to Casey's before the game started, and they could spend some time in front of the tube, drinking beer and planning how many skulls they were gonna bust!

"Tomorrow," Splinter said firmly, and something about the look on the rat's face, the tone of his voice, convinced Raph to not push the issue any further. "Now, it is time for your medicine. And then, to bed!"

Leo hung his head and sighed. Though they were better, they still had to take what the Master Healer had called a "Strengthening Potion" three times a day. It was black, oozy, and smelled like a combination of licorice, gasoline, cotton candy, and garlic. The taste was NOTHING compared to the smell-- it was worse. The texture was thick, oily, and coated their tongues and throats with a film of aftertaste nastiness that stayed with them until just before the next time they had to take it.

Mikey laughed even as he headed to his room. He never could get enough of watching the two of them try to swallow that stuff in one go (and the various faces and exclamations and gagging sounds and bodily contortions always entertained him, even after all these months), but tonight he still felt a bit down, and decided to turn in early.

He had dug out the copy of "Frankenstein" before hanging up his coat. Now, cozy in his bed, one light on, he once again started reading it from the beginning. It comforted him for some reason. It made him think of Victor, and though the thoughts were sad, it still comforted him in some strange way.

Klunk, appearing from one of his favorite napping places (one of the many stacks of comics), with little effort jumped up to Mikey's bed and proceeded to make himself comfortable on his Master's pillow, purring and looking for all the world as if he, too, were reading the book with him.

Mikey absently raised a hand and scratched his cat around the ears, and was rewarded with an increase in the volume of the purring.

"A memorial," he said to the cat out of the blue. "I should plan some type of memorial for Victor. But what?"

"Purr-rrr-rrrrrrr-rrrrrrrr."

"Hmm, you're not much for suggestions, are you, Klunkers?" he smiled, still reading. "Oh, well, I'll think about it later. But yes-- Victor needs a proper memorial. I owe him that much."


	2. Chapter 2

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Thanks for reading, all two of you! You're the greatest! TMNT do not belong to me, they belong to Mirage. Dr. Baker, however, is my character, but if Mirage wishes to purchase the rights...

**Compromises**

"Damn!" Raphael swore, breathing hard, as once again Michelangelo set him back on his tail in the dojo. He had come so close! He had defeated Donatello, and had almost (to his way of thinking, that is) made short work of his baby brother. But Mikey, only fighting at half-strength, had still bested his brother-- though he had been sporting enough to offer him two extra chances after the first one when Mikey had taken him out in thirty seconds.

Splinter's critical eye was boring into Raphael's back; he could **feel** the "I thought so" burning into his shell as he sat there, panting as if he'd run ten miles nonstop instead of fought for ten minutes with his baby brother.

His only consolation was that Leonardo had not even managed to defeat Don. The brainy turtle, also fighting at half-strength (at the secret direction of Splinter) had easily tripped "fearless leader" up within five minutes of the beginning of the bout, and had stunned him a good one across his weak arm (again, at the secret direction of Splinter).

If Raph didn't know better, he would have thought that Don had lost to him on purpose just so Mikey could humiliate him in front of their father. Don, who had taken Leo out so quickly and easily, had fallen to Raph in five minutes! But now, Raph was beginning to suspect that Don had "thrown" the fight...

_Naw! That's just paranoia! I won fair and square!_

"Hmmm... well, another day below ground," Splinter said needlessly. "Come, let us meditate, and then it is time for your strengthening potion and lunch."

Leo, still nursing his arm, was close to cracking. He knew Splinter was toying with them. He knew that Don had been fighting at half-strength-- he'd sparred with him long enough over the years to know the difference-- and he knew most painfully of all that he was still too weak. A dark cloud developed in his mind. This was just too much! He HAD to get out of here, to rebuild his strength topside, to be free!

"Meditate!" Splinter's sharp command cut through his pouting; nothing got past Sensei. He knew that Leonardo was dwelling on his frustration rather than calming his spirit and learning from his lesson.

After twenty minutes, he released his sons from the dojo. The smile on his face was not missed by the two eldest.

"I'm telling you, we was set up but good," Raph whispered as they made their way to the kitchen to down as quickly as possible the "strengthening potion".

"Tell me something I don't already know," Leo snapped-- then he took a deep breath and apologized to Raph. "I don't mean to take it out on you, bro-- we're both in the same situation. I'm sorry I got mad."

Raph grinned-- then began planning his next escape attempt. This time he would not use Leo as a decoy-- Splinter would not expect a quickly planned trip out of the lair! The less planning the better! Woo-hoo! He should have thought of it before!

Raph with great strength of character choked down the revolting concoction quickly, bypassing eating something on top of it to help dull the flavor as well as settle the stomach.

"I'm hitting the shower," he said as nonchalantly as possible, heading for the bathroom.

Three minutes later, he was out the door, bundled up against the cold, headed for the surface as fast as his legs would carry him.

The closest exit is the best, he kept thinking. The closest exit is the best!

Getting there, staying in the shadows, he gave the place the quick once-over; no one, especially Splinter, in sight!

Out of the shadows, up the ladder, push the manhole cover aside--

Raph was nearly blinded by the sunlight streaming in between the two buildings that sheltered this exit. Squinting against the unaccustomed glare, he quickly exited the hole, breathing in deeply as the sharp, cold air bit against him, burning his nostrils and lungs in a painful yet pleasing way. He stood there for a few minutes, simply breathing in deeply, blinking and winking his watering eyes against the sun and the cold. It was so wonderful! It was cold and wonderful! There in the alley, surrounded by buildings and dumpsters, he flung his arms wide, raised his tearing eyes to the sky, and laughed for sheer joy!

"Rather a nice day, eh my son?"

Raph froze, and not from the cold. As his eyes became accustomed to the natural light after months of enforced imprisonment, he made out the figure of Splinter standing before him.

"Too bad you can not stay longer to enjoy it," he continued mildly.

For a brief moment, Raph considered making a break for it. The mental image of his being tackled to the ground by his father, coupled with the knowledge that even if he managed to escape, he would still have to come back home sometime, prevented him from doing anything other than silently climbing back down into the unwelcoming darkness of the sewers.

He walked back home, refusing to look behind him. He walked into the Lair, got out of his gear, and plopped down on the couch next to Don, waiting for the lecture that was following on furry feet.

Leo, seated in Splinter's chair, spared him one look of pity, then quickly returned his eyes to his book as their father reentered the lair.

"Here it comes," Raph sighed, sagging down as he grabbed a cushion to squeeze the stuffing out of in order to not lose his temper with his father.

Splinter stood over both of them, hands on hips, tail-tip barely twitching.

"May I remind you both of the oath you swore to me?"

Leo blinked.

"I didn't have anything--"

"May I remind you **both** of the oath you swore to me?"

Squeeeeeezzzzzzzzzzeeeee.

"Sensei," Raph tried as calmly and respectfully as possible. "What if you went with us? Leo and me-- please, we're so... so..."

"Stubborn?"

"Please..."

"Disobedient? Unfeeling towards your own father's wishes? Forgetful about how close you came to dying in my arms? Unconcerned with this old rat's emotions?"

"Master Splinter, you trained us up to help you get revenge on the Shredder," Leo, throwing caution to the wind, reminded Splinter. "Which we did, by the way! We nearly all died that time, you included! You trained us to be Ninja! Ninja who kill, and who run the risk of being killed! And you're still upset because we took out Bishop!"

"There is a difference in what you were 'raised to do' as you put it, and what you two did of your own accord," Splinter, having heard this argument before, refused to be baited or distracted by it. "May I remind you both of the oath you swore to me?"

SQQQQQUUUUUUUUEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZZZZZEEEEEEE!

Deep--deep-- DEEP sigh...

Head hanging low, eyes closed in resignation, so pathetic-looking!

"We swore on our honor that we would abide by your decision to not let us go topside until you deemed us ready to resume our duties," Raph said in a flat, defeated voice.

Splinter nodded.

"And yet you both either together or on your own--"

"Yes, we keep trying to escape," Leo interrupted once again. He was so tired of it all. What was Splinter going to do to him for being disrespectful, GROUND him? After all, he pretty much had nothing to lose, and he was feeling the confinement as much as Raph. "Can you blame us? We're sorry! We won't do it again!"

Splinter arched an eyebrow at this normally (yet occurring more frequently) uncharacteristic outburst from Leonardo.

"Do not lie to me," he simply said. "You know that you both will try it again. And again. And again."

Don, hiding a smile behind the sandwich he had been eating, swallowed quickly and looked at his brothers in sympathy.

"Cheer up, guys! There's always afternoon training-- and evening training! One of you may actually defeat both of us and get out of here by tomorrow!"

Bap! The pillow hit Don squarely in the face. Since he had been sitting so close to Raph, and Raph had swung it rather than thrown it, it stung mightily.

"Eat your lunch," Splinter told Raphael, walking away from his unhappy sons. "Eat your lunch, and rest up for this afternoon."

He entered his room, prepared to meditate. It was getting harder and harder to catch those two, and he was contemplating just letting them go-- and the various punishments at his disposal for dealing with them when they finally came home-- when a knock sounded on his door.

"Enter," he said, and was a bit surprised to see Michelangelo walk into the room. His youngest bowed with respect, then sat before his father. "What is it, my son?"

Michelangelo sighed, trying to think how to begin.

"I was wondering," he hesitantly said. "I've been thinking about-- you know, Victor, and all that stuff, and about Life and Death, and about-- well, you know--"

Splinter took Michelangelo's hand and patted it. If his son would have allowed it, he would have pulled him into his lap and held him as he used to all those years ago. He knew that Michelangelo had felt the death of this Victor very deeply; sometimes he wondered if his son blamed himself for not finding a way to help him; to save him.

"What is it you wish to do? I can see that you wish to do something," he said kindly.

Michelangelo looked a bit embarrassed, unsure.

"I guess I want to do some sort of memorial for him," he finally said. "But I don't know what to do. I mean, it's not like he was family. And it's been a few months. And-- well, does it sound dumb?"

And the look he gave Splinter, combined with the emotion behind the question, went to the old rat's heart.

"No, it does not sound 'dumb'," he comforted his son. "It sounds like an honorable thing to do. This being, after all, helped to rescue me. He lost his life fighting our enemy. Honor dictates that we do something to commemorate his memory. This is an excellent idea, my son. And I would be very proud to help you plan it."

Mikey smiled with relief-- he truly felt as if a weight had been lifted from his soul.

"Okay! We can start planning tonight after dinner, okay? That'll give me time to make some notes and research and stuff! Thanks, Dad!"

And he hugged Splinter and left the room quickly, already going over the preliminaries in his mind.

Splinter, smiling, went back to his own plans; i.e., what to do with Leonardo and Raphael once they finally managed to escape.

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He'd been in hiding for so long now, he'd lost all track of time.

It was so damn cold-- yet he refused to find a safe way out of the City or to go to the proper authorities. Though he was staying for now in a relatively comfortable "motel" (he hated to use the word in connection with this place, but what else could he call it?), outside was freezing, and still he refused to seek warmer, safer climates! He stubbornly remained in New York City-- and just as stubbornly stayed in hiding!

Even if the news he'd read over the past few months was true; even if the rumors that his one trusted contact had passed onto him were proven to be correct; even if Bishop, indeed, WERE dead-- there were still others out there, others who even in this freezing cold winter were looking for him, constantly looking for him!

Thanks to his one trusted contact he was able to stay in warm places at night, and to have more to eat than the "normal" homeless-- but even though his friend time and time again urged him to either leave the country or at least the state-- or "go to the FBI! They can protect you!", he stubbornly refused.

He had stayed safe this long-- despite that one gang's constant search among the thousands of homeless to find him-- a fact that led him to wonder at first if his trusted friend was really someone to be trusted. After all, only she knew that he was hiding out among the faceless masses-- yet somehow they seemed to know to search.

He'd seen them a few times, hassling some poor homeless men-- and then one night, he'd seen two of **them **show up! They had shown up and stopped the attack-- one had thrown a weapon and the leader of the "gang" had screamed so high and so loud it was a wonder that the cops had not shown up all most at once! As he had watched from his hiding place, fearful of moving lest someone discover him, he had briefly considered making contact with **them**! They could probably help him!

Then they were gone, and he thought better of it. Why would those mutated beings help him? After all, he had worked for the man who had almost killed them in the first place; he had studied their DNA samples, he had marveled at the brief glimpse he'd been allowed of them at that time-- so fascinating, even more so than the large mutated crocodile--

The crocodile! He remembered when it-- **he**-- had looked at him and had asked him why he was doing these _"inhuman things to me? What did I do to you to warrant such treatment?"_

He found himself weeping again, weeping and wishing that he could go back in time and be the person he should have been-- he should have freed that creature! He should have answered him!

No, he had ignored this intelligent being and had continued with his horrendous experiments-- and no justification, no blaming it on the orders of his superior Agent Bishop, was going to change the fact that in that instance, at that time, HE had been the "monster", not (as that bastard Bishop kept insisting) the crocodile. He, Dr. Edward Baker-- the real monster in that lab at that time.

A noise outside his room distracted him. Once again he froze in fear; had they found him? Had they finally found him?

A careful peek out the window-- nope, just another homeless guy, digging through the trash dumpster near this building, hoping for something decent to eat.

Throwing caution to the wind, he bundled up an envelope of money inside one of his spare jackets, and, keeping a sharp eye out, quickly exited his room, whistled to the guy at the dumpster, handed him the jacket and envelope, and just as quickly disappeared back into the building before any words could be spoken.

Then he spent a sleepless night worrying that it had all been a trap.

Meanwhile, the startled man who had received this gift quickly put on the jacket, counted the money, and headed to a cheap place he knew where he could get a real meal, blessing the unknown benefactor to Heaven the entire time.


	3. Chapter 3

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Yeah! I'm back! Thanks for reading! TMNT, including Dr. Stockman and a few others, are the property of Mirage. Any OCs are mine-- for good or for ill.

**Conflicts**

The woman stared at Dr. Stockman, then at the "body" lying on the slab. It had been carefully preserved all these months to the point that nothing had decayed, but it was still a body; damaged beyond all thoughts of repair.

And yet...

"Can it be done?"

She had posed this question several times, and each time the "good doctor" had hedged in answering. She was beginning to realize that either it could be done but he was incapable, or else it was completely hopeless.

Stockman had tuned her out after the fourth time. _These people_, he sniffed, as he continued to study not only the mass of matter before him, innumerable tubes and fluids and other things feeding into it in a bid to stave off decomposition; but also the various notes and computer-generated data she had overwhelmed him with. _These people watch too many movies! Always expecting the genius doctor to answer them within minutes of presenting him with the information._

Working for Bishop had exposed him to information beyond his vast imagination-- though the most important information to him, i.e. generating a new body to house his magnificent brain and returning him to "human" status still eluded him-- all Bishop's fault, he had dangled that carrot for too long, and now he was not in a position to fulfill his initial promise to Stockman. He had learned many things, including the truth behind Bishop's long life-- it was amazing what Agent Bishop had accomplished, considering the fact that when he'd first become aware of "alien life" it had been well over one hundred thirty years ago!

Yes, Agent Bishop had been a unique person, learning, developing, researching, inventing and reinventing (including, it appears, himself)-- and yet, in the end, all of the knowledge, all of the technology, all of the genetic manipulation hadn't done him much good against two determined and deadly mutated Turtles.

Stockman had had quite an education under Bishop, and megalomaniac that he was, he truly had appreciated the genus that had been Bishop. It seemed that there was nothing he hadn't thought of.

But what this woman wanted?

Stockman finally shook his head.

"I simply do not see how it can be done-- not the way you require it," he finally had to admit. "And I do not get the feeling from reading all of this that he was able to find a way, either. There might be a way to technically 'bring' him back-- but judging from his own notes and research, it would not be the same. At best you would have a sort of copy-- but without the memories, the abilities, the intelligence-- indeed, without the **soul** if you will, of the person you are trying to regenerate."

She did not wish to admit defeat.

"But it could be done?"

Stockman looked at this woman half in disbelief, half in awe. And he thought **he** was obsessive...

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"You're going down this time, Mikey!" Leo promised. It was the afternoon, and Splinter had told the other two to fight at full strength according to their own judgment. He had had to when Leonardo, before the session, had confronted his Sensei regarding the topic.

"You told them to fight at half-strength. You wish us to regain ours, and yet you continue to coddle us so we can't. Don and Mikey need to stop holding back!"

Oh, his tone had been very, very, very respectful, but the accusation was there nonetheless. Leonardo was not happy that Sensei was treating them as if they'd just gotten out of their death beds.

"Yes, I have," Splinter had readily agreed. "I have and I am not ashamed of my actions. I have my reasons. But if you will not regain your strength unless your brothers spar **without** holding back, then I will not stand in the way. But when they **stop** holding back, do not come crying in frustration to me **again**!" And he turned with a flick of his tail and stalked off to his spot in the dojo where he usually observed the bouts.

Leo hated to be reminded, even in a subtle way, of how in the early days of their return to the dojo both he and Raph had complained that Don and Mikey needed to "hold back" a bit during bouts, because they had not regained their full strength.

Leo took a deep breath; he'd had to do it! Sensei was smothering them! They needed to be--

"Leonardo and Michelangelo! Begin!" came the sharp command, and before he was prepared, Mikey knocked him on his tail with one quick sweep of the legs.

"Damn it, Mikey!" Leo shouted in frustration-- and then swallowed his anger down quickly as he felt the all-knowing gaze of Splinter boring into him like Mikey into a chocolate cake. Quickly he arose and began the bout in earnest.

From the sidelines, Don and Raph watched with equal interest for different reasons. Don had a bet with Mikey on how long it would take for him, at full-strength, to win the bout over Leo-- nanoseconds were mentioned, and Don kept one eye on the timer in his hand, one on the match.

Yes, Mikey was definitely performing at full-strength. And Leo was managing to hold on, though all could see that within five minutes he was laboring, breathing hard. His veins were standing out on his forehead in anger and determination, but Don was confident that Leo would soon fall. All he had to do was hold on just a few more minutes, and Don would win the bet.

"Go, Leo!" he cheered from the sidelines as his older brother, sweating and panting, approached the time limit Mikey had chosen as the exact moment Leo would be going down. "Don't let him beat you! You can do it!"

Raph took his eyes off the match and stared hard at Don; an angry light of understanding began to flicker in his eyes as he observed the delighted expression of his brainy brother.

"You guys are betting on us, aren't you?"

Don cheerfully ignored Raph's pissed tone. Leo was still on his feet, and it looked like Don was going to win!

"Woo-hoo! Way to go, Leo!" he shouted as Mikey's estimated time came and went. "Take him down! LeeeeO! LeeeeO!"

"Donatello, enough!" Splinter snapped, eyes never leaving the bout.

Leo was gasping by now, but he was not going to lose to Mikey! He refused to lose to Mikey! The Great Outdoors was calling! He could hear it, smell it, taste it--

With a feign of his katana, he suddenly rolled behind his brother's attempted block, lashed out with both feet, and landed his most powerful kick against Mikey's shell, wondering how far he would fly!

Mikey barely staggered, spun quickly, and with deft swings of his 'chuks disarmed Leo before he could blink.

"Match goes to Michelangelo," Splinter announced, as Leo lay there stunned and weaponless.

I kicked him! I kicked him with both feet! He should have been knocked to the other end of the dojo! I kicked him!

"Great bout, bro," Mikey grinned, holding out his hand to help Leo stand up. "You almost had me, there."

Leo stared in disbelief at the hand being offered to him. With a sudden surge of embarrassment and anger, he knocked the hand away, turned over onto his hands and knees, and with great effort made his shaky, exhausted way to his own feet.

"Leonardo!" Splinter snapped.

Leo swallowed hard, turned and, with a much calmer expression that did not match his inner feelings, he bowed to Mikey and congratulated him on the win. Then he retrieved his katana and carefully made his way to where Don and Raph were seated. It took all of his inner strength to not collapse on the floor in an exhausted heap as he lowered himself to join them.

Raph passed him a towel and some water, and he gratefully accepted both, spilling some of it as he shakily held the bottle to his mouth to drink.

"Twelve minutes, thirty-three point seven seconds," Don smiled at his oldest brother. "I'm so proud of you!" He patted Leo's head as if he were a clever child!

Leo studied his brainy brother's beaming visage.

"You bet on us," he said simply.

"No dishes for me for the next week!" Don confirmed, getting up and getting ready to take on Raphael. Both of them saw him pass the timer to Mikey with a cheerful "I plan on eating a LOT of things these next few days!"

"Raphael and Donatello," Splinter's overly cheerful, overly grim voice called out.

Raph got up, determined to defeat this smug younger brother.

"Don't let him psych you out," Leo warned. Raph nodded grimly. He was NOT going to lose to Brainac! He was NOT!

"Begin!"

Ten minutes, fifty-three point seventeen seconds later, Donatello was declared the winner.

"And now, meditation," Splinter announced, and four turtles spent the session joined in thoughts by groups of two: Leo and Raph were plotting revenge, Don and Mikey were planning a trip topside.

When Splinter dismissed them from the dojo, Mike and Don wasted no time in gearing up and heading out. They didn't want to risk being delayed-- or being ambushed by their already humiliated brothers.

"Do not be late for dinner!" Splinter called after them as they bolted from the lair on their way to April's.

Leo and Raph plopped down onto the couch in unison. Splinter, to their chagrin, joined them in the living room, sitting in his chair.

"Come to keep an eye on us?" Raph groused, still nursing his arm where Don's bo had cracked him a good one across the elbow.

"Of course," Splinter responded honestly. "I have to keep an eye on my two 'babies'. That is what a good father does."

Leo rolled his eyes. He was still "smarting" from his inability to kick Mikey to the curb-- literally.

"Sensei, we both promised on our honor to stop trying to escape. What do you want from us, blood?"

"You both did excellently this afternoon," Splinter said, ignoring the rude remark of his son. "You both showed improved stamina and more of your old fighting skills. You both fought as you used to, before your battle with Bishop. But you are still holding back."

Leo, taken by surprise, looked puzzled; Raph even more so. Them, holding back? Them?

Splinter nodded thoughtfully at them, going over the bout-- indeed, the past few bouts in his mind.

"Yes, this afternoon you have shown more of your old skills, your old styles. You did not hold back as you have been doing. You both have a fear about you when you are sparring with your brothers, a fear of hurting them. I can see it in your moves, in your attacks-- in your faces. You were not aware of this?"

Leo, stunned, kept thinking and rethinking every move, every humiliating match he'd had since Splinter had allowed him and Raph to return to sparring. Holding back? Fear? No way! Splinter was imagining it! He certainly hadn't feared hurting Mikey today when he kicked him--

Yet Mikey had barely staggered. Leo had put it down to lack of strength. But now...

Had he held off? Had he pulled his kick?

"You think we've been holding back?" Raph's harsh voice cut into Leo's thoughts. "How have we been holding back? I've been close to cutting them time and again! How is that holding back?"

"Yes," Splinter agreed. "Close to it-- but never close enough to actually put them in any danger of being cut. You have been reluctant to press home your attacks with your weapons-- both of you. Today, Leonardo, instead of sweeping in with both katana and disarming Michelangelo, you feigned the attack, then rolled behind him to kick him in the shell. You stood a better chance of winning had you attempted to disarm him. Instead, he disarmed you. And, you pulled your kick. He should have at least gone down on his knees."

Then he turned his attention back to Raphael.

"In your bout with Donatello, you never got in close enough to disarm him," he continued. "You used to be able to take his bo from him with both sai. Today he was able to crack you across the elbow, and to take both of your weapons with little effort. You both fought well, and showed your old skills-- yet you are both still holding back."

Splinter got up and looked at his sons. They both wore such odd expressions, as if they wanted to vehemently deny their father's observations, and yet realized that he was speaking-- well, certainly not the WHOLE truth, but some-- yes, some of what he was saying made sense-- they guessed-- but they were NOT holding back! It had been the others, the others at Splinter's directions-- well, except when Leo had mentioned it before-- but that was months ago-- and still-- they were NOT the ones-- well, maybe a bit-- but STILL--

"I am going to make some tea. Remember your promise."

And without another word or glance, he went into the kitchen, smiling all the while. That ought to give them much to think about he chuckled to himself.

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Though they all loved the sunlight, the best thing that could be said for winter was that dark came earlier, and they could move around easier. Still, they had stayed too long at April's, and they knew they'd better not be late for dinner, or they would be joining Leo and Raph in being cooped up below ground for some time!

"And so Sensei said all that I need to do now is choose a date," Mikey was filling him in on his plans for a memorial for Victor. "We're gonna do it sort of like the traditional Japanese way-- I think he would have liked that."

Don nodded, eyes on their surroundings. Though the weather had brought a lot of activity down, there was still activity. And their last encounter with the Foot was still fresh in Don's mind.

"Um, Don," Mikey, after several minutes, hesitantly said.

"What?"

Hesitant sigh; fidgeting.

Don looked at his normally chatty brother.

"What?"

"When you and Leatherhead blew up that place," he slowly dragged out. "Um, well, no one was in there that was still-- alive-- right?"

Don stopped in his tracks. They were on a well-shadowed rooftop, close to their entrance into the sewers. It was freezing, and the feel of snow was in the air. Despite their cold-weather gear, they ran the risk of becoming too cold, too sluggish. And yet Don could tell that this question of Mikey's needed to be addressed now, not when they got home where it was warm.

"L.H. and I made sure no one alive was in that place," Don affirmed, a hand going to his little brother's shoulder. "Only bodies remained in every room we wired. Only bodies."

"Even Victor's?"

"What?"

"Even Victor's? Did you **see** his body lying there? You know, in that room where we found Sensei? You made sure those poor guys strapped down had escaped... did you see..."

Don sighed, long and deeply. He guessed that Mikey had overheard some of his theories regarding Bishop; had perhaps entertained some vague hope that Victor--

"Victor's brain was destroyed by that fail-safe device," Don told him, kindly but firmly. "There was no way he could have survived that kind of damage. Bishop may have found ways to regenerate the body, but the brain is too highly complex to--"

"Did you see the body?" Desperate; insistent; he needed to hear the word "yes" from his brother! His eyes were pleading with Don for a "yes"! He had to hear it from Donatello!

The truth was-- Don honestly did not remember seeing the body upon his and Leatherhead's return to sweep the room of survivors and to destroy it along with the rest of the facility. He'd had so many things on his mind, how could he remember this one small detail?

But Mikey needed to hear it. He trusted Don-- he trusted all his family, but for some deep reason he could never explain, Don's word meant the most to him.

Don put both hands on Mikey's shoulders. He looked him in the eyes.

"Yes," he lied sincerely. "Yes, I saw the body. He did not regenerate. He was dead. I'm sorry, Mikey."

Mikey sagged partly in defeat, partly in relief. He nodded, forced a grateful smile on his face.

"Let's go home. I'm freezing."

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He twitched awake. The pain had returned. He didn't understand the term "pain" but he understood the feeling! It hurt it hurt it hurt so bad! He could not articulate the words, the expressions, but he could feel it!

He wrapped himself tightly in the stolen blankets, snuggled down into the nest he'd made for himself. The creatures sleeping with him shifted, disturbed by his movements; then they settled down again and went back to sleep.

Vague images flashed through his memory-- fighting-- friendship-- pain pain pain-- blackness-- then realizing that he was living-- living here.

But where was here? And how long?

The pain subsided, and sleep came again-- dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

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By the way, I got the information for traditional practice concerning funerals from this really cool website-- you may have to PM me for the complete address, but its main title is osoushiki-plaza-- for those of you who are curious.

TMNT and all their rowdy friends are owned by Mirage. Any OCs are mine and no one else's.

**Consequences**

A few days later:

Mikey was overwhelmed. He had tried researching the "traditional" Japanese style funeral/memorial service, but so much of it was undoable-- you needed a body, for one thing-- and he was beginning to despair. He had wanted to do something meaningful, something in keeping with his own upbringing as well as something that would honor Victor-- regular funeral services just didn't seem appropriate for someone who had basically been created in a laboratory by a madman.

But all of this stuff!

He read it again, trying to pick and choose out of the twenty-four requirements those that he could do:

**Description on traditional practice concerning funerals**

**1.Matsugo-no-mizu : Water of the last moment**

Giving water to the deceased in hopes of his/her revival. Well, that was out-- no body. So much of this stuff needed a body...

**5.Kitamakura : Turning the dead person's head to the north**-- no body.

**6.Sakasagoto : Practice for inverting manners of a daily life** -- once again...

**7. Shinishozoku : A dress for a journey to eternity**

The deceased is put on so called a grave clothes, a hood and a money pouch containing six pieces of money--

--and again. Mikey was becoming quite despondent.

He kept reading and reading and rereading:

**9. Mofuku : Mourning dress**

In old days, people used to wear white in funerals. Especially the chief mourner was expected to wear " Shinishozoku " to act as substitute for the deceased. This may be doable and it sounded perfect! After all, he would be the chief mourner-- he would talk to Splinter and April about this.

**10. Juzu : Rosary**

The rosary having 108 beads should be handled gently so as to get rid of 108 evil passions. Well, that one they could skip, though it sort of appealed to Mikey. Too bad they didn't have one for Raph-- he had more than 108 evil passions...

Number 11 grabbed really his attention!

**11. Ihai : Mortuary tablet**

Generally Japanese believes that spirits do not exist in daily living environment, but come to see us when they are called in memorial rites performed in honor of ancestors. The spirits have been thought to appear with the aid of a certain medium such as the mortuary tablet, dagoba, tombstone and the like. The plain wood tablet, will be replaced with the black lacquered tablet when the mourning period expires.

Now, this truly appealed to him! He was sure that he could pull this one off. True, Victor had NOT been a family member, but Mikey didn't think it would matter-- after all, Victor had been created-- and to a certain extent, Mikey and his family had been "created", though by accident, not by design. This idea truly appealed to him! After all, they thought of Master Yoshi as an "ancestor", and yet they truly weren't related...

Mikey went back to the list.

**15. Tsuya : Wake**

It is a common custom worldwide to hold a wake for keeping a watch over the deceased.

Mikey put his head in his hands, and quit reading. Poor Victor. He'd not had anyone or anything to mark his passing other than a few tears from Mikey and a very huge explosion to wipe out the evidence as well as destroy the plans of a madman.

**22. Otoki : Dishes served in memorial services**

Vegetarian dishes served in a Buddhist service. This word has been formed by mixing the word " Otogi " ( to keep awake) and " toki " ( to purify and coordinate) . In some areas in Japan, a meal tray for the deceased is prepared during the services.

Now **this** sounded like something Mikey could handle! He wasn't thrilled about the vegetarian part, but he felt that it was the most doable of all he'd read. He could guess what Victor may have liked in the way of food.

"My son, am I interrupting?"

Splinter stood in Michelangelo's bedroom doorway, awaiting permission to enter. That was one of the things Mikey never could understand. He would ask permission, yet he was always certain that he would be welcome-- not that any of them had ever had the nerve to say "no, get lost!" to test out their theory. Well, perhaps Raph once in a while had said "I'd rather not," only to look up and see Splinter approaching as if the welcome mat had been put out especially for him.

"No, Father," he replied, hastily making a clean space on a chair for Splinter to sit in at the desk with him. Splinter refrained from any observations on the condition of the room and thanked his son for the seat. "I'm having such a hard time with this-- it's impossible to do it in the traditional way I had hoped for." And he showed Splinter his lists (three in total-- the current one had held the most hope for him) and told him of his frustrations. Splinter eyed them all, nodding, listening, waiting until he had something to offer in the way of comments.

"Well, my son, if I might make a suggestion," he said, "I think whatever you do should come from the heart. All of this ceremony is fine, but in the end, you must choose what you feel would truly honor this man. Create your own way of honoring him."

"What, you mean just make it up? How am I supposed to do that? I don't know anything about--"

Splinter held up a hand.

"I believe you know exactly what you want to do, correct? You wish to honor him with a memorial. Well, there is no set way to conduct a true memorial. All of these," and he gestured to the lists that Michelangelo had been studying, "are nice and originally meant well. To many they hold great meaning. But there is nothing in stone regarding how you honor someone's memory."

Splinter sighed, thinking of all they had been through-- all he had been through since he was a small pet rat.

"Look how Karai honors the memory of the Shredder," he found himself saying, staring at the lists. "She has created this 'memorial library'-- and yet it is still a front for an evil organization. I would guess it would be the type of memorial that Oroku Saki would be honored by."

Then he took a breath, looked at his son, and brought up a subject that he knew would not be welcome.

"When I myself am gone from this world, I will want something very simple and humble. And whatever it was, I would want all four of you to be equally involved-- none of this 'chief mourner' business."

"Sensei! Do we have to talk about that right now?" Michelangelo squirmed uncomfortably, wishing he could escape anywhere rather than even briefly discuss Splinter's death!

Splinter smiled at his son's discomfort; he changed the subject.

"Have you or Donatello had any more trouble from our old adversaries?"

Mikey blinked, a bit surprised.

"No, Sensei! We would have told you. Why?"

Splinter sighed.

"Because it is becoming harder to keep your brothers under control," he admitted. "And Karai has been all over the news lately publicizing this 'memorial library'. I need to know if they are planning any retribution. That they were willing to fight with you and your brother proves to me what I have told Leonardo time and again: Karai is not to be trusted. I do not wish their first successful escape to involve running into the Foot."

"No, Sensei. Don and I have scouted around-- Casey, too-- but it's too cold right now. Hardly anything is happening. Casey was complaining about it at April's the other night," Mikey said. "He was sad 'cause he hadn't busted any skulls lately. And Don and I would tell you at once if something happened. Even that business Raph and I came on a few months ago seems to have died off."

Splinter nodded, remembering how his sons had related this information regarding Hun and the Purple Dragons searching the homeless of New York for some poor man who evidently had been a former employee of the hated Agent Bishop.

Splinter had this nagging feeling that something was in store, something evil on the horizon of their lives. But that could be because of Leonardo's and Raphael's constant attempts to escape before they were strong enough to survive any fights coupled with Splinter's overprotective parent mode.

He and Michelangelo discussed both situations for a few more minutes. The consensus was to keep an eye and an ear out-- and to NOT let Leonardo and Raphael know if they could help it. At least, not for a little longer.

"They both showed more of their old selves today in the dojo," Splinter said, "but though each managed to defeat one of you, I still feel the need to follow Donatello's suggestion."

Mikey grinned at his father. The three of them seemed to have the same mind when it came to deciding if Raph and Leo were ready to face the cold, cruel world. NONE of them could or would ever get the mental picture out of their minds of how those two had looked like Death incarnate standing in that gore-coated room that night...

"Let us return to this," Splinter said, motioning to Michelangelo's many lists regarding the memorial for Victor, and the two were in serious discussions for the next forty minutes or so.

He had NOT meant to eavesdrop!

He had more honor than that! Of course he had!

And yet...

On his way to his room, he had overheard two words that had caught his bored out of his skull attention: "trouble" and "Karai".

And then it had been easy, oh so very very easy to stand there! Mikey's door was not really closed; Splinter had barely pulled it shut, and it stood open a few inches. They were NOT lowering their voices as if keeping it a secret; hell, they weren't even speaking Japanese, a SURE sign to one and all (though everyone understood it) that the conversation was private and had better remain so!

So even though it was wrong-- who could blame him for listening?

And boy did he listen! Don and Mikey had had a run-in with the Foot? Karai had not honored the truce? Something about the homeless and that guy whom Hun and his group had been looking for...

I've got to get topside! Something is happening!

"Whatcha doin'?"

Leo nearly gave himself away with a girlie scream as Raph came up behind him while he was listening at Mikey's door. With a lot of frantic bodily gestures and shushes he got through to his brother to be quiet and to follow him to his own room. Once inside he told Raph everything he had managed to overhear.

"We have got to get out! They've been keeping this stuff from us!" Leo concluded angrily. "How could they not tell us that the Foot had fought with Don and Mikey? How could they keep it a secret that Karai has not honored the truce she, herself, declared?"

Raph smirked a bit.

"Yea, how dare they keep stuff from us, who have always informed them of our plans," he sarcastically smiled, and Leo, after a few more minutes of fuming, finally realized the meaning behind his brother's words.

He grinned weakly.

"Well, that was different," he lamely defended. But Raph was too busy getting on his phone to listen.

"Hello, Case? Yeah! Long time! Listen, Leo and me are bustin' out tonight! It's an emergency! We're comin' there-- be home! NO, don't give me any 'buts', butt head! We're on our way!" And his short but sweet conversation was over. He looked at Leo. "So? Gear up, bro! We gotta get while the gettin's good, you know?"

Five minutes later they were out of the lair taking the long way around to the surface.

Dark dark dark topside! Despite the hour and the cloudiness and the cold and the slight drizzle of snow and sleet, it was glorious! Both turtles nearly forgot themselves in the joyous freedom of (relatively) fresh air stinging their lungs, nostrils, and eyes! Then they carefully, quickly, and expertly made their long way to Casey's place.

The traffic, the noise, the lights-- everything was a welcome sight or smell or sound to them-- arguments in many languages, countless aromas of frying fish, frying chicken, Chinese food, hot dogs, falafel, things they could not identify yet it made their stomachs growl with appreciation-- music from countless radios in countless languages-- sound upon sound, sight upon sight, smell upon smell! And all the time, dark and cold and wonderful!

Finally they made their way to Casey's apartment building-- Casey's light was on, Casey's shadow was in the window!

The two had not spoken one word the entire trip; each had been lost in the joy of the experience! Now they looked at each other and grinned in brotherly triumph!

Without a sound they made their way into Casey's place the usual way-- through the window that opened onto the fire escape.

"Case Man!" Raph finally spoke, throwing his arms wide to the tall human who now faced his visitors-- unsurprised, yet nervous-- though the guys hadn't quite noticed it yet. "Long time! Damn, it's good to see ya!"

"Uh..." Casey swallowed hard, looking like he'd been caught doing something unCasey-like; letting a gang member go, for example, or being a gentleman-- "Uh, hey, Raph! Nice ta see ya..." his voice died out, his face looked apologetic. Suddenly: "Look! I didn't have no choice! It's not my fault! Honest!"

Leo and Raph froze, looking at their friend.

"Not your fault?" Raph echoed, totally lost.

"No," a new yet painfully familiar voice greeted their ears. "It is not his fault. It is yours."

Splinter stepped into view, tail slowly moving back and forth, whiskers twitching, ears slightly flat in his anger.

"Well? Did you have a nice walk here?" was all he said.


	5. Chapter 5

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Thanks to Splinter for all her help and suggestions and her CONSTANT NAGGING for me to write! And thanks to Thalpomene for all her kind words as well (and her constant nagging for me to write!)!

TMNT and their homies belong to Mirage. I need to buy some popcorn today...

**Cooperation**

The smell of freshly popped corn permeated the lair as only the popcorn aroma could. Mikey, up in his room where he and Splinter had been planning (until the frantic phone call from Casey had pulled his father, anger flashing from his dark eyes, topside) picked up the lovely scent-- or rather, it picked him up, like in those old cartoons where the character floated along, eyes closed, as the smell of some delicious item of food carried him to the source.

Mikey laughed as that image filled his mind even as he left his room and headed downstairs. Jumping to the bottom floor from the railing, he saw Don coming out of the kitchen, a huge bowl of the fluffy white, crunchy goodness in one hand, a large glass of soda in the other, and an expectant expression on his face.

Amused, Mikey watched as his cheerfully whistling brother set his snacks on the end table, then started fussing with Splinter's chair, moving it this way and that, studying each slight angle change with all the concentration and seriousness that he afforded his most precious of experiments or inventions. Now and then he would suddenly sit in the chair and look towards the door, frown, get up, scoot the chair just a bit to the left or the right, sit in it again, leaning back, pretending to hold something in his hands-- and all the time, his gaze would travel to the main entrance.

Satisfied at last, he retrieved his drink and bowl and made himself comfortable.

"What are you doing?" Mikey asked finally, coming over and helping himself to a messy handful of popcorn, dropping nearly as much as he had picked up.

"Careful, shell for brains!" Don protested, trying to save every precious kernel from hitting the floor. Don did NOT subscribe to the five second rule, and unlike Mikey and Raph, would NOT pick any dropped food off the floor at once and immediately pop it into his mouth. "I'm getting ready for the show."

Mikey laughed, no more explanation needed. Ever since Leo and Raph had started sneaking out, Don had discovered a great love of watching the results of their efforts. Even he couldn't explain why he increasingly enjoyed watching the two elder brothers squirm and whine and argue and plead with Splinter after each and every track down and capture.

"Perhaps it's because I'm still so very angry with them," he had shrugged once to Mikey, in the early days of the escape attempts, when he had nearly earned twenty flips for laughing and goading them on while Splinter, who had just caught them in the garage, starting up the Battle Shell, was giving them a heaping helping of parental anger.

At any rate, Donatello had found "The Leo and Raph Show" to be the best entertainment to come along in years, and he never tired of it.

"Care if I join you for this one?" Mikey grinned, and at Don's answering laugh, he quickly hit the kitchen for his own drink and an empty bowl. Back in the family room, Don filled up Mikey's bowl with popcorn while his brother arranged the cushions on the couch. Grabbing his bowl with a "thanks, Don!", he, too, got comfortable.

Then the two of them sat, watching the front door with almost the same eagerness and expectations as they used to do when very young, and they were awaiting the return of Father from his scavenging trips, hoping for some promised treat or unexpected surprise.

They did not have to wait long.

The door opened, and Leo and Raph came in, Splinter right behind them. Not a sound, not a word, not a tiny peep was coming from anyone at that moment-- except the soft crunching of popcorn.

"You two, upstairs. Now," was all Splinter said. Mikey and Don exchanged disappointed glances.

"That's it? You're just sending them to their rooms?" Don asked, surprised.

"I meant you two," Splinter, eyes never leaving Leonardo and Raphael, said shortly.

"Wh-what?" Mikey tried stalling for time, but it was not going to work. With a stern glance at the two observers, Don and Mikey slowly gathered their concessions and headed to their rooms.

"Sit down, my sons," Splinter said to the others, as he claimed his own chair, carefully brushing stray popcorn kernels from it into his hand and then just as carefully depositing them on the coffee table for the moment.

Leo and Raph sat on the couch, Raph immediately grabbing a cushion to squeeze against his growing frustration and anger.

"Let us discuss this calmly," Splinter began, though he was feeling far from calm. He had to forcefully push to the back of his imagination the image of him putting them over his knee and spanking them soundly as he used to when they were turtle tots; that would not solve any of his problems though it might make him feel good for a moment. These two-- these two were aging their father with each escape attempt.

"What's to discuss?" Leo asked honestly. "We broke our word. Again. As you predicted."

"And your reason for suddenly doing so this time?" Splinter asked.

"Why didn't anyone tell us that the Foot attacked Don and Mikey?" Leo countered, trying to keep his anger in check, but feeling it just below the surface of his determination. He stared his father in the eyes-- his face was a combination of frustration and hurt. He was supposed to be the "leader", yet he had been kept in the dark regarding Karai's breech of the truce-- the truce that she had declared!

"How did you find out about this?" Splinter asked, slightly surprised.

"I heard you and Mikey talking about it earlier."

"Dude! YOU were eavesdropping? YOU?"

"Michelangelo!" Splinter angrily said, looking up. Donatello was just smacking Michelangelo on the back of the head for giving them away.

"We're going, Sensei," Don assured him, pulling his brother behind him.

Splinter waited until he heard two doors close, then turned back to the others.

"So, you heard us discussing this, and that sent you topside," Splinter stated rather than asked.

"Yes," Leo responded. "I had to get out, to find out what was going on. I should have been told. WE should have been told!"

"Because?"

"We're a family! We're a team! Why were we left out?"

Splinter sat quietly, hoping that Leonardo's own words would alert this stubborn son to the irony of his statement.

"We had no right to expect it, Leo," Raph, figuring it out, sighed. "We were treated the way we treated them."

Leo felt as if he were going to start yelling.

"How many times do we have to beg forgiveness for doing so?" he gritted his teeth, struggling more and more to keep from raising his voice. "We've even gone down on our knees! How much longer are we going to be punished for going after Bishop?"

"As long as you live!" Splinter suddenly snapped back. His anger was also struggling to get loose, to vent itself once again upon the two who had nearly committed suicide in their mission against their personal enemy. "As long as you live, I will take every opportunity to remind you of it! I nearly lost you both!"

There was tense silence for a few moments as everyone forced their emotions to calm down.

"Yes, it makes no sense," Splinter could almost read their thoughts. "Yes, from the moment when I realized that you were capable of learning all I could teach you, that you could be the help I needed in avenging the death of Master Yoshi, I trained you up to be Ninja! I trained you to fight, to kill-- and you have done all these things! You have avenged my master's death; you have risked your lives, you have been injured and wounded and left for dead several times! And I felt these things each time! Do you think they did not affect me? Did you imagine that I was heartless and uncaring each time one of you was carried, bleeding and battered and barely breathing, back to the Lair for either Donatello or myself to patch up, to nurse back to health?"

Splinter stood up and paced the floor; his tail was lashing angrily, his hands he had to keep clasped tightly together to prevent them from grabbing both of his sons and banging their heads together. He took several deep breaths, then stood still, facing his sons.

"Each time I felt these things-- and yet, it was expected. I had no reason to regret. I was afraid that I may lose you, but I did not fear it. But this time-- this time, it was different. This time it was as if I was watching the two of you deliberately run into traffic, or jump from a bridge, or commit seppuko! This time... I feared that I had lost you."

He sat back down, tired, and risked a glance at the two on the couch.

"You tried that speech before," Raph pointed out. "We got it the first dozen times."

CHOKEGASPCHOKECOUGHCOUGHSNICKERSNICKERGAGCOUGH!

Bits of half-chewed popcorn suddenly began "snowing" from above, and all three looked up to see Don frantically slapping Mikey on the shell as his brother alternately choked on his food and tried to laugh at what Raph had said.

Splinter shook his head, sighed. Perhaps he was punishing the wrong two...

"Look," Leo began, trying to salvage something from this fiasco. "Please, Sensei-- we just want to return to our old lives! We just want to go out with our brothers, to go on patrol again-- to be part of the team. We understand your concerns, but we're better! We really are! Please-- we just want to be together again."

"Again, I say to you-- do I need to remind you of the oath you swore to me?"

"Damn it!" Leo exploded, jumping up off the couch-- and suddenly found himself eye to eye with Splinter, who had come out of his chair as quickly if not quicker than Leonardo. Though they were all taller than Sensei by many inches, one always had the feeling that he was equal in height, if not taller, at times like these.

After a minute of the stare down, Leo averted his gaze; shoulders slumped, head hanging. He forced himself not to sigh in defeat.

"Hmmm... what will it take to keep you two in the Lair until I say you may leave?" Splinter mused, as Leonardo avoided his gaze and waited for yet another punishment.

"How about stapling their toes to the floor of the dojo?" Michelangelo suggested.

"That won't work," Donatello informed his youngest brother. "But I have some really powerful glue, Sensei."

"Enough," Splinter said, eyes still on Leonardo.

"Or we could use those electronic monitoring devices," Don continued. "You know, those ankle bracelets that they attach to people under house arrest."

"Yeah, like Martha Stewart!" Mikey grinned.

"I said enough," Splinter warned, looking up at the others.

"I know!" Don said, inspiration striking. "GPS-- Global Positioning Systems! We could track them via satellite!"

"Thirty flips, Donatello! Be in the dojo in five minutes!"

Mikey looked at Don as he and his brother gathered up the remains of their snacks.

"Too bad about the flips, bro," he sympathized. But Don shook his head, a grin splitting his face.

"It was worth it!" he avowed as they headed for downstairs to put away the bowls and glasses. "It was worth thirty flips!"

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The creatures followed him like well-trained pets. As he scavenged for food for himself as well as them, they loyally trailed behind and around him, patiently waiting for anything he handed them, begging for his touch, reveling in his scratches and petting and such.

Everyone's hunger satisfied, he returned to his lair, followed eagerly by his only friends.

Friends... that word actually registered in his mind as nothing else had for some time. He had had a friend...

Memories... or dreams? Or fevered imaginations?

PAIN! All of this brought back the PAIN! Clutching his head, he sank into his nest, and was quickly joined by the comforting presence of his friends. As he lay there, thinking of nothing, letting it all blank out, the pain subsided, and he finally fell asleep.

And dreamed of a book... and a friend... and a different life...

Life.


	6. Chapter 6

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Happy New Year! My first chapter of 2006! Wow! Thanks to anyone who is actually reading this! I appreciate the attention.

TMNT are the property this year of Mirage, despite my New Year's Resolution to take control bwa-hahahaha.

**Circumstances**

She was dreaming of that day...

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Rain... lots of rain... cold, hungry, angry, dirty, alone...

... and then HE had found her! One minute she is crying out her frustration and disappointment in the world, the next HE had pulled open the curtain that served as her door into this hellhole and found her!

Like a hero of old, he had studied this defiant child, and had seen that she was of worth; and in need. He had held out his hand to her in kindness, not in anger. And something inside her made her trust him, and she had taken it-- and her life had miraculously changed!

All of the fairy tales of the world could not compare to that day when he had found her; had taken pity on her; had ADOPTED her!

It mattered not his profession or his "race"; she had been surprised but not disgusted on that day a few years later. But it had mattered not!

"If you were Emma-O it would not matter to me," she had said that day when he'd revealed his true self to her. "You are my master; my Father! I will follow you to the ends of the earth and beyond! I will serve you faithfully and keep all of your secrets! I will never abandon you!"

And he had allowed himself to hug her for her response.

He was not totally devoid of emotional attachment.

Whatever else he was, he was not completely heartless; he had in his own way loved her.

She knew this now.

Sitting up in the middle of the night, in her comfortable bed, surrounded by the best that his hard work and countless years of struggle could provide, she knew that, despite it all, he HAD harbored love for her in his own way. The dream had once again reminded her of that.

For Karai, that was good enough!

She arose, shunning the expensive silk, milk-white kimono that lay across the foot of the large bed. The room was warm enough even in the filmy, violet silk and lace nightgown that clung loosely to her well-toned yet feminine frame, and there was no one else around anyway to warrant the wearing of the robe.

She padded barefoot, across the expensive rug to the small yet well-tended shrine she had set up along the far wall. Lighting a stick of incense, she bowed with respect to a beautifully framed picture of Oroku Saki, and then knelt before it, remembering all he had done for her and speaking to him of her gratitude in her mind.

"And this I swear, my Master, my Father," she ended aloud as she always did lately. "I will avenge you! Your enemies are my enemies. I will crush all those who did this to you. I will crush the Turtles with my own hands!"

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Hun awoke early, and for a brief moment he registered surprise and awe at his location. He owned a fine penthouse at the top of a small yet serviceable building that housed his reinvented Purple Dragon gang.

He stared for a moment at the king-sized bed that he was in, expensive Egyptian cotton sheets; exquisite silk-covered quilt that had been special ordered, embroidered with-- what else, a large Purple dragon rampant on a black background-- and he marveled again at his status and new life.

The master bedroom was large. It was appointed with the finest in carpets, furniture, and decorative art. It was surprisingly tasteful, and many of his old associates would have wondered at this seeming good taste and fine appreciation that Hun of all people seemed to be exhibiting.

Sighing happily, he allowed himself a few more minutes of basking in the glow of his good fortune! Then the day began.

A brief trip to the bathroom, a change of clothes (from satin pajamas to a workout outfit), and he hit the "dojo", where today he only spent an hour working out and keeping up his sword practice. He may have some latent hatred for his former "master" ("an Utrom!"), but there was no denying that "Oroku Saki" had pretty much taught Hun everything he knew. There was no point in letting these skills in fighting go to waste, though he preferred all the high-tech weaponry he had been "lucky" enough to acquire over the months following the "death" of the Shredder.

Yes, sir, Hun had shown them all! There was no more talk of his being a pile of muscle with no brain! He was a force to be reckoned with! He had taken a street gang and turned it into a profitable business! And this was just the beginning.

He would have liked to spend some more time training, but business called. A quick shower in the beautiful bathroom, then on with a custom-tailored and expensive (yet very tasteful and conservative) business suit, and, grabbing his dark cashmere topcoat and well insulated leather gloves, he was ready to go.

"Make sure the car is ready," he said without preamble into his newest phone (high-tech! The latest in styles with a myriad of abilities that rivaled anything they had used when he was still with the Foot-- and anyone could buy these!), as he headed to his private elevator. "And make sure my coffee is ready as well! I'm meeting with Karai today, and I know she won't be serving any."

"Yes, Master Hun," the obedient voice of his second-in-command replied. "Should you like a thermos to take in with you?"

"Naw. I can tough it out with the tea. But make sure there is plenty in the car when I'm through," he replied.

And another day of business as usual began for Hun.

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Karai sat across from her former "brother" and considered all he had said. She looked thoughtfully into the cup of tea that she held in her hands, repeating everything he had presented to her in her mind. Then she had looked up. Her face did not betray any emotions, but she was both curious and untrusting. Hun, after all, had been her fiercest adversary when her father had ruled the Foot. She had no reason to trust him.

But he had served her father faithfully for many long years, and so she was familiar with him enough to know that she could believe him-- at least, believe him on what he had told her. She knew he had not told her everything.

She was, after all, the Shredder's daughter.

"How does finding this Dr. Baker benefit either of our organizations?" she finally asked.

Hun shrugged.

"Whether it benefits the Foot I've no idea," he admitted freely. "But I need to find this guy before the others do. He worked for Bishop. Bishop did a lot of work with alien technology. I need his help, willing or no."

She arched a finely shaped eyebrow at Hun. Skepticism briefly showed on her beautiful face.

"You tell half a story," she smiled. "I know that you have much contact with this Ruffington. Why would you need this Baker?"

Hun hated tea, but he sipped his anyway. He knew that dealing with Karai had its dangers. He did not want to reveal all his plans to her, but over the past few months he had had to face the realization that he needed her help. The Dragons were not being effective in finding Dr. Baker. He knew that if he had the help of the Foot, then he stood a better chance of locating this person before his old colleagues did.

The rumored death of Bishop only served to make this more urgent. The guy had apparently remained in hiding, knowing that others were after him for his unique expertise in genetics.

But should he tell Karai?

"I need him for my own personal reasons," he finally said, steadily looking her in the eye. "And that is all I wish to say. Will you help me or not? All you need to say is 'yes' or 'no'."

And he set the fine tea cup down ever so gently.

"You have not convinced me of the benefit to me," she replied. "I am not talking of payment, as you know. I am talking of personal reasons. We never were the 'brother and sister' that our Master tried to make us. Why should I, dear 'brother', help you?"

Hun smiled in spite of his hatred for Karai. It was true, he had been fiercely jealous of any attention paid to her by Shredder. As long as she had stayed in Japan, things had been tolerable.

But when she had come to New York to take control of the Foot during that time when everyone thought Saki was dead-- and had revealed to Hun that he was indeed alive and in hiding-- Hun had had to swallow the overwhelming hurt he had felt; his Master had NOT trusted him by letting him know he was alive. Karai had been given the specific job of protecting him, hiding him, until he had healed from the near-death injuries he had sustained.

Even knowing now that Oroku Sake had been an Utrom did not lessen the old hurt in Hun. Despite everything, Saki had been like a father to him, and though he hated to admit it now, it had felt good to "belong".

"Let me put it this way," he heard himself saying. "How would you like to clone 'dear old dad'?"

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"Excellent!" Splinter heartily commended when Raphael, still breathing harder than he should be from the exercise, defeated Donatello in the match. "Excellent! That is the way! Congratulations my son! Well done indeed!"

Don was grinning at his brother. Though Raph had won, he was nearly twice as winded as Don. Of course, it hadn't helped matters that he had also defeated Mikey beforehand. Sparing with each brother was tiring but not exhausting. Don and Mikey had first sparred with each other, then they had to give Raph and Leo their chances at freedom. A normal day of training like this and they all would have been tired but not to the point of collapse.

Raph was struggling to act anything but ready for a nap. He desperately wanted to sit down for a bit, perhaps stretch out in his hammock and catch a few Zs to recover, but he was determined to make sure Splinter honored the agreement: once they had defeated both brothers in the dojo, they were free to return to the surface.

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And the first place I'm goin' is Casey's to pay him back for rattin' us out to Splinter, he vowed as he awaited the official word from his father.

Leo as well had managed to defeat both Don and Mikey today. Though he had had plenty of time to rest up while watching Raph's bouts, he had trouble getting up off the dojo floor to line up with his brothers. After a desperate struggle to rise, coupled with his fight to keep from groaning aloud, he was on his feet and acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

Splinter was not fooled. But he had to honor his agreement. He would rather they not go at all, but he was caught.

And yet...

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If these two think that their punishment is through...

"Very well. You have defeated your brothers in the dojo. You are free to return to the surface," Splinter said, and those were perhaps the hardest words he had ever had to utter. "No meditation today. You are all dismissed."

Containing their overwhelming joy, Leo and Raph made a dignified exit from the dojo-- then grabbed their gear and prepared to head out.

"I see that you two are wasting no time," Splinter said behind them as they put on coats and other things. It was daylight and cold, and their first real trip was not going to be for training but for fun.

"Yes, Sensei," Leo grinned. "Raph and I want to be in the sun as soon as possible."

Splinter nodded.

"And what, may I ask, are your plans?"

"Casey's of course," Raph said, trying to decide which hat would keep his head warm, keep his profile covered, and not make him look like a stereotypical pervert or stalker. "For me, at least. You comin' with me, Leo?"

"I had thought about a run across the roof tops, but if I need to wear all this because of the cold, I'd rather either visit Casey's or April's," he replied, pulling on a pair of jeans and some large boots. "Of course, at April's there's more of a chance of getting some hot chocolate and warm cookies."

Raph, mind full of the many pay backs he had planned for Casey, suddenly had an overwhelming desire for some of April's chocolate chip cookies.

"Mmmm... she makes them just the way I like 'em," he sighed with a smile on his face. "Let's go to April's and see if we can get her to make us some."

Leo grinned.

"Yeah! A celebration of our release from prison!"

And they laughed, forgetful for the moment of their father's presence.

In fact, they were so excited and busy getting ready to go, talking about their plans, that they failed to notice that Splinter was getting ready to go out himself.

It wasn't until they found him waiting at the door that it registered on them. Splinter was dressed in coat, pants, small boots, gloves-- and his wide-brimmed hat. Normally he reserved these for special trips for scavenging above ground at night. But things had been so good over the past few years that he had not had to use these items any more for that kind of activity. The guys hadn't seen him dressed like this in ages, and certainly not in the daytime.

He looked at them expectantly.

"Well? Let us hurry! I have not had any of April's chocolate chip cookies warm from the oven in months and months."

And he exited the lair.

Leo and Raph exchanged confused glances. For the moment they could not comprehend what it was that Splinter had said; had meant.

"Does he..."

"Is he..."

"Come on, my sons! We must hurry! We do not want Donatello and Michelangelo to beat us there!"

Both of them caught up to Splinter in a heartbeat; both of them got in front of him, halting his progress.

"Whoa! Waitaminute!" Raph sang out in disbelief, staring hard at the expectant face of his father. "You're goin' **with** us?"

"Of course," Splinter replied, slightly surprised. "Did you not hear me? We are going to April's for a celebration." His eyes narrowed. "You know... to celebrate your release from prison!"

And he pushed past them, leading the way. Once again the two in tandem caught up, got ahead of, and blocked their father's way.

"Uh, Sensei!" Leo tried smiling, gathering his thoughts quickly and trying his best to talk them out of the apparent extra company. "I was out of line for saying that. I'm sorry. But we--- I mean, don't get me wrong, we love spending time with you, and we haven't been-- you see--"

"We wanna go alone," Raph cut in. "By ourselves. Without YOU. Father." As Splinter continued to gaze at him, Raph became anxious. "I mean, not that we're saying that you can't go wherever you wanna go. It's just that..."

"We don't want you going with us," Leo finished, desperately crossing his fingers mentally.

Splinter smiled wickedly at the two of them.

"Oh, no, my sons. It is my duty to go with you; to ensure that you DO make it to April's, which as you say is your destination. You have just been released from prison, you know," and Leo groaned inwardly at his careless choice of words in the Lair.

"Jeeze," Raph sighed in part frustration, part anger. "Here we go again-- your duty as our father, right?"

Splinter, eyes wide in mock innocence, shook his head.

"No, my son! My duty as your parole officer."

"Parole officer? What the hell?"

"Yes. You two are on probation," Splinter said, pushing past them to start the climb up the latter to the surface. "And I am your parole officer. I must make sure that you are where you say you are going to be. Come along! I know for a fact that Michelangelo is already counting on this being one of April's baking days. We need to get there quickly if we are to get any cookies."


	7. Chapter 7

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TMNT are not mine. Please enjoy this story even though they are not mine.

**Considerations**

Karai sat at her desk long after Hun departed, staring at the photograph he had provided her with and thinking again about what he had said.

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"This guy worked with Bishop for fifteen years in his genetic section. He helped him develop his cloning project-- and other things. Then, a few months before the Shredder's 'departure', he suddenly left the organization."

"And how did he come to your attention? "

"I was contacted by a third party-- who wanted me and my gang to find this guy. Apparently Bishop's people had not been able to find him. No one knew where he was, but my 'client' was certain of two things: that he hadn't left New York, and that he was hiding among the homeless. Some sort of guilt-trip, apparently."

Karai once again studied the picture, frowning. There was much that Hun had not told her; but then, to be fair, she had not told Hun all that she knew, either. For example, he had no idea that the being known as "Oroku Saki" was not dead, though to Karai's way of thinking he was as good as-- banishment to some frozen, deserted wasteland-- one of several thousand circling some unknown planet so far away from her that she could never hope to rescue him.

Instead, she had listened, intrigued at Hun's having come to her in the first place.

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"After hearing all this guy was capable of, I thought perhaps I would find this guy for MY organization. There's much he could do for me, willing or not. My 'client' has been strangely silent since the rumored death of Bishop."

"No one has been able to confirm his demise?"

"No. There are various stories; injured, ill, well but in hiding, business as usual-- and dead. The most reliable of the rumors is that the Turtles finished him off-- they were seen in the facility before it was destroyed."

The Turtles. Yes, she had known back then of several of the things Hun was talking about. Leonardo had foolishly contacted her, trying to find out why Hun would be so interested in one of Bishop's former laboratories.

Her people had only seen two of the turtles in recent months; evidently part of the rumors regarding Bishop must be true. Two of the Turtles were either dead or so badly damaged they could not surface. This had caused her some frustration-- she wanted revenge on the entire clan, not just two of them.

Pressing a button on her desk, she awaited the arrival of one of her most trusted aides, and frowned in thought. Hun had left out much, including who this mysterious client of his was-- though he had suspected it might have been Bishop himself, working through a go-between.

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"After all, I haven't heard a word since Bishop's 'disappearance'. Funny, him coming to me-- if it was him."

Yes. Very funny.

"Mistress Karai?"

The tall, bald assistant stood before her, bowing respectfully then standing at attention. Even indoors he wore dark glasses as if wearing a mask. His outfit was in keeping with his "outward appearance" of someone's personal secretary; simple yet stylish business suit. In other words, dressed for the "legitimate world".

Personally trained by Karai, he was a deadly fighter, and she trusted him with her life.

She handed him the photo.

"Have several dozen copies of this made," she ordered simply. "When they are ready, call a meeting of the ground operatives. I have a special mission for them."

"Hai, Mistress!"

She had agreed to help Hun. He had been pleased even though inside he knew she was not to be trusted.

She smiled, rising from her desk and leaving her office. Hun was right; she was NOT to be trusted.

"I'll be in the laboratories with Dr. Chaplin," she informed her assistant on her way out.

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"Do you think we've shaken him?" Raph, uncharacteristically nervous, slightly panting, searched the surrounding area with his eyes, afraid of what he might see. The sky was cloud-covered again; no moon was out to help spot anyone after them.

It was late, but not too late. Yet the current cold snap still had the streets pretty much deserted around this time of night. No one out but the homeless who had no place to go-- and Leo and Raph-- and their pursuer.

"I think so," Leo said hopefully, also scanning the area-- only he was using one of Don's high-tech goggles-- so far, no body heat registered anywhere near them. No Foot Tech could hide from these babies-- the Slayer had not been able to be undetected for long either. There was NO way that their pursuer could mask his presence from these things! There just was NO WAY!

Leo breathed out a sigh of relief.

"That diversion you created worked," Leo congratulated his brother. "We've lost him."

"The question is, can we move from here without his picking up our trail?" Raph mused, still feeling as if he were being watched.

"This is great," Leo sighed, frustrated. "Our first real night out, and we're already on the run. How did this happen?"

It had been a few days since their first official return to topside. When they had had to go to April's with Splinter, it had been bad enough-- but then he had insisted on accompanying them to Casey's-- and to the park-- and on patrol--

"I wonder if he's gonna follow us to the bathroom if we gotta pee," Raph had whispered that first day out-- but before Leo could respond, Splinter had made them go home with a "that is enough for today, my sons. We do not wish to overdo it!"

Before Raph could answer his brother properly, a noise below attracted them; a sweet, familiar, long-missed sound-- the sound of battle!

With identical grins, the two pulled their weapons-- the feel of them was so electrifying! It was as if they, too, felt that they were truly back in action, not just practicing in the dojo!

Leo and Raph stealthily moved to the edge of the roof where the sound seemed to be the loudest, and peered over the side.

One- two- no, FOUR! FOUR familiar enemy were below-- holding an apparently homeless man!

"Foot! All right! This is gonna be sooooooo sweet!" Raph growled in a whisper, the old light coming into his eyes, the old feeling of impending action coursing through his action-deprived body!

"Why are they bothering that homeless man?" Leo wondered, getting into a better position to see.

Three of the ninja were holding the man still, while the fourth appeared to be comparing his face to a picture. Then he must have decided the man was not who they were looking for, because he roughly shoved the picture into the cowering man's face, demanding to know if he had seen him before.

"N-n-n-n-no!" the guy barely croaked out, too afraid to struggle, but shaking so violently that the three holding him were having a difficult time. "I swear! Never seen him before in my life!"

The leader stared at this pathetic creature, so cowardly, so worthless-- it would be a mercy to end his miserable existence-- and he said so in Japanese to his colleagues.

"No! Mistress Karai said no killing!" one of the other four warned him in a sharp voice, as the first had pulled his tanto and prepared to plunge it into the man.

As one, without a sound or a word or a discussion, Leo and Raph jumped down, taking out two of the Foot before the leader could act.

"Run!" Leo needlessly shouted to the homeless guy-- suddenly freed of two pairs of hands, eyes taking in that long deadly knife in the hands of the guy in front of him, he had in his panic managed to swing the remaining assailant who was holding his right arm into the leader, knocking both off balance and freeing himself. Without a backward look he was gone, swallowed up by the night.

"All right!" Raph was laughing, blood dripping from his sai, as he faced the two remaining Foot. "Did you miss us? 'Cause we sure have missed you!"

"We have a truce," the leader said, pulling his katana from it's sheathe across his back and going on guard, his remaining soldier ready with his kusarigama . "Mistress Karai--"

"Broke her word when you attacked my brothers," Leo finished. "I know that the truce is over-- I'm not the fool 'Mistress Karai' seems to think I am."

Without warning the kusarigama came snaking towards Leo, wrapping around his right wrist so suddenly he'd no time to blink. With an even quicker yank, the turtle was pulled off-balance-- and met with a swift kick to the plastron, sending him into a wall.

Raph, with a cry, was on the leader in a flash-- and just as quickly pinned to the ground, blocking a downward swing of the leader's katana.

The struggle reminded him of Don's pinning him in the dojo-- he angrily struggled to keep the steady pressure of the attacker's blade from reaching him-- with a sudden kick, he managed to roll to the side, regain his feet-- only to be knocked to his plastron by yet another Foot soldier.

It registered on Raph that there were three more ninja in the alley-- he had not heard anyone call for backup, but apparently it had arrived.

Leo, recovered, was struggling to take on two attackers at once. He had managed to disarm the one with the kusarigama, but before he could move in for the kill, two more Foot had jumped him from above, nearly disarming him! It had been only through sheer will that he'd held onto his precious katana, and now he was feeling the effects of his first real battle-- in the back of his mind he cursed himself for wishing that he could mix it up with the Foot at once-- then he had no time for thought. This was not going to end prettily.

The fight continued, and both turtles dealt out a lot of injuries-- but they were slowly being forced back into the dead end part of this particular alley. They had no way to get out-- and two more Foot came into view, raising the total to seven (not counting the two they had initially dispatched).

Panting, bleeding, struggling-- Leo and Raph saved their breath for fighting. Each, however, was almost smiling ruefully, as they both could just hear Splinter in their thoughts...

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So? You are ready to return to the surface, are you? Leo imagined, blocking yet another attack by two of the Foot, both armed with katana.

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If you get killed, do not come crying to me! Raph nearly laughed as he thought of what Sensei would say if he could see them. Then he was fighting to untangle himself from the business end of yet another kusarigama.

"I suppose that you will not thank me for this," they both heard Splinter's voice this time-- and before they knew it, their father had leaped down from above, placing himself between his sons and their attackers. Before the Foot could react, Splinter was upon them like a brown, furry flash of lightning, walking stick and the skill of a Master vs. seven well-trained but startled Foot ninja.

Before Raph and Leo could come to their master's aid, the seven were dealt with-- now nine bodies lay in the alley.

Neither Leo nor Raph could fully grasp what had happened. The action had been so quick, so deadly, that their minds had not been able to immediately process it all.

Sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer; curtains in various windows were moving as nervous eyes peered into the dark below, trying to get a view of what had been going on. Splinter turned to the two Turtles, motioning to them to follow quickly. A brief run up the alley, a hasty drop into an open manhole, a quickly replaced lid, and Splinter faced his two sons at the bottom of the ladder. The dark was interrupted at intervals by the weak lighting system installed for the workers' convenience-- but they could make out the look on Splinter's face as he gazed at them, hands on hips.

"How long were you watching us?" Leo finally asked.

"From the moment Raphael asked you 'Do you think we've shaken him?'," Splinter replied.

Both Turtles sagged.

"Home," he said, turning and leading the way. "And once we are there, we will discuss the punishment for breaking your parole."


	8. Chapter 8

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Thank you for your continued support Thalpomene , and for your suggestions, Splinter! Oh, yes-- all possible punishments as discussed by Leo and Raph are the helpful ideas of Splinter! Credit where credit is due-- unless you hate them, then honor demands that I say they are mine.

TMNT, unfortunately, are **not** mine-- they belong to Mirage. Dr. Baker, on the other hand, is mine.

**Circumventions**

Baker was on the move again. After what had seemed like a few months of a break from having to constantly keep changing his location, and despite the cold snap, he was being actively pursued again.

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Could the rumors be wrong? Could Bishop be alive? Impossible! My friend was so sure!

And now there appeared to be yet another group looking for him. The night before he had overheard some guy in one of the many "safe" locations where homeless gathered that some "crazy ninja" had ambushed him--

"All dressed in black with some kinda red symbol on their outfits," he was still shaking, as he took gulping drink after gulping drink of a bottle of cheap brandy someone had passed to him. "I mean, four of them, and they kept askin' me did I know this dude, and holdin' this picture of some guy up, and speaking Chinese or sumthin'-- and then one of 'em pulled this damn long knife and I knew I was dead!"

Baker, pulling his collar up and his stocking cap more securely on his head, got closer to hear the guy's story.

"Then these two guys dressed all in green showed up, and I was outta there!"

"Jeeze, thems almost sounds like the others that been hasslin' people," this older man said, taking a pull on the brandy bottle. "Only thems folks was gang members... yep, remember some big fella... damn he was bigger 'n my ex-wife-- but not as scary!"

And everyone, including the guy who had nearly been killed, laughed at the old man's story.

Baker stood there, listening to the guy's tale (and the similar talk of others-- "damn shame, ya can't even be homeless an' someone's out to gitcha!"), thinking and rethinking what he'd heard. Ninja? All in black, wearing a red insignia? That sounded new. NOW who else was looking for him?

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...two guys all dressed in green...

That **had** to be those mutated Turtles!

Once again, he toyed with the idea of enlisting their help. After all, they obviously were the enemy of this gang, and these new assailants as well-- and he **knew** they were the enemy of Bishop's organization.

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But would they want to help someone who is as tainted as I am? A year ago I was more than willing to experiment on such creatures.

In the crush to surround the large can where a cheerful warming fire was burning, he managed to get close enough to the still shaking guy who'd just escaped death, and with a skill that he had refined since first taking refuge on the streets, managed to slip some money into the guy's pocket. It wasn't much, but it might help in some small way towards making up for the attack on the man.

Baker wasn't fooled; this group, like the other, was looking for an African-American. If only...

But the police would not care, not even if race were an issue. He ruefully laughed. Where was a civil rights group when you needed one? _It has come to our attention that our people are being singled out for being homeless! We have every right to be homeless! Equal rights for all!_

Huddled against the bitter cold, he kept a sharp eye out as he made his way to his latest "safe spot".

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Leo and Raph were seated on the couch, fresh bandages in place over new wounds, twin expressions of disgust on their faces.

"The punishment has begun," Leo had whispered to Raph, after Splinter had left them with not only their strengthening potions but also bowls of broth, cups of tea, and more medicines to ward off infections, fevers, and colds-- this after he had none too gently cleaned and medicated the various cuts, scrapes, and bruises they had sustained in their first battle since Bishop.

Raph nodded, noting the silent treatment Splinter had been giving them. He had not spoken to them since they had first reached the sewers, when he had told them they would discuss punishment when they had returned home. So far, no discussion had taken place.

"I suppose it's too much to hope that he keeps the silent treatment up for a bit longer," Raph tried to tease, but strange to say, he was feeling a building tension with their father's refusal to talk to them.

Every action of Splinter's had been wordless, from his caring for their injuries to his doling out of the various medicines and "food". Then he had retired to his room and had not been seen for at least forty-five minutes.

They drank their meds, they downed their broth, and even Raph said yes to Leo's offer of more tea.

And they speculated on what was to come.

"A week of grounding, or a day of all the nasty jobs," Raph said, staring at the TV. Leo looked at him, puzzled. "That's my bet. Either Splinter will say we have to spend one day scrubbing every floor in the lair-- and you've seen Mikey's room lately, right?-- also toilets, shower stalls, that space around the stove where that strange black gunk always manages to build up-- or we'll spend the week confined to our rooms."

Leo seriously considered this guess on his brother's part as he flipped through the channels, not really wanting to watch anything but just killing time.

"No," he finally commented, stopping on some nature program about the mating rituals of squirrels ("Jeeze, Leo," Raph grabbed the remote, found a sports channel, "I don't wanna see some squirrel get his nuts off!"). "I think it will be something more to do with the dojo. I'll bet it's flips-- probably one hundred each, though he might take pity on us and cut it in half. Fifty flips without a break or staggering, and if we can't do them, we're stuck underground until we **can** do them. And **then** he'll raise the requirement to one hundred."

Raph snorted into his tea.

"Splinter isn't gonna let us off that easy," he assured Leo. "Hey, since when is Jump Rope a sport?"

"That's what you get for watching ESPN 2," Leo responded, changing to yet another boring documentary, this one on reconstructing with computer-generated help, what some three thousand year old mummy looked like. "What were you going to say?"

Raph blinked, momentarily distracted by some archaeologist with an accent so thick they still put up subtitles, explaining why it was so frickin' important to know what some old dead pharaoh looked like all those years ago.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah-- he'll make us spar with each other," he said, beginning to smile. "Loser gets grounded for a month."

"And the winner?"

"Grounded for **two** months." And he grinned at Leo, eyes twinkling. "See? Who would want to win?"

Leo seriously considered what his brother had said in jest. Raph had a point; normally the idea of **trying** to lose would be unheard of, but given the options Raph had imagined, Leo could almost see himself falling to the dojo floor on the first blow and admitting defeat. A smile at the thought crossed his face, turned into a grin, and finally bloomed into a laugh.

Raph was laughing as well, but for different reasons. **He** had imagined that as they were bowing to Splinter, Raph would suddenly fall to the floor and not be able to get up.

"You win Leo," he could hear himself say. The idea tickled him, and despite his attempts to stifle the sound, he couldn't quit laughing.

The door to Splinter's room slid open, and the Rat slowly exited his chamber. Both Turtles immediately fell silent, waiting for the walking stick to fall as it were.

Without a word or even a glance he walked into the kitchen. After a few minutes, they heard the sound of the tea kettle, and after a few more minutes, he came back into the living area, carrying his own cup of tea. Silently he approached his chair, sat down, and motioned for them to turn off the televisions. Leo complied hastily.

Sigh.

Nothing was said. Splinter seemed to be having trouble finding the words he needed to get through to these two.

"You are not to go above ground without your brothers," he finally said. Then he continued sipping his tea, awaiting the coming explosion.

"But Sensei--" Raph was the first to speak.

Splinter's fingers tightened on his cup; he could feel the struggle within himself to keep from breaking this delicate piece of china. April had given him this beautiful set for Christmas, and he had used it almost exclusively of any other that he owned. The intricate blue dragon wound around the white china as if doing a graceful dance, and Splinter never grew tired of looking at it.

"But Sensei what?" he heard himself echo, and even he was a bit surprised at the tone in his voice. "But Sensei you were smothering us? But Sensei, we were doing fine on our own? But Sensei, we could have beaten all of those Foot? But Sensei--"

CRACK!

Too late, Splinter realized that his anger was building, but before he could set the cup down he had broken it in his hands. Hot tea masked the pain of a sharp cut, but the presence of blood mingled with the pale liquid now staining Splinter's robe and pooling on the floor at his feet startled the students into action.

Leonardo ran for the first aid supplies while Raphael, at once on his knees, began to gently pry his Master's hand open, breathing a sigh of relief when he realized that there was only one cut. Carefully he pulled the offending shard from the small wound, as well as removing the rest of the broken pieces from Splinters grasp.

No words were spoken as the two brothers cleaned and dried and medicated and bandaged the hand; no sounds were made as they mopped up the mess, brought Splinter another robe, or returned from the kitchen with yet another cup of tea in case he wanted it.

No "thank-you, my sons" came from his lips either.

When everyone was settled again, silence reigned supreme for almost five minutes.

Splinter looked at the two on the couch.

"You will not go to the surface without both Michelangelo and Donatello," he stated flatly. "Or without me. Those are your options."

He got up and returned to his room, quietly closing the door.

Raph and Leo sat on the couch, thinking.

"I vote we go with Mikey and Don," Raph finally said. "They're easier to give the slip to."

Leo shook his head in disbelief. He turned to Raph-- and caught the teasing gleam in his eye, the playful smile on his face. He saw then that Raph was kidding, and couldn't help laughing where before he had planned on lecturing big brother-style.

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"So, what do you think, L.H.?"

Mikey and Leatherhead were at the waterfront, both bundled up in coats and hats more for warmth than for disguises. It was late, and though the clouds still blanketed the sky and the air held the promise of snow, nothing was falling at all.

"We could hold the first part of the ceremony at the lair," he continued, as they walked along, unworried about being seen. All of the buildings here were either abandoned or shut up tight; not even a watchman was out in these temperatures, just two reptilian creatures who seemed to find warmth in each other's company as well as the well-insulated outerwear they were bundled in. "And then we could come here, when there's a better chance of the current flowing towards the ocean, and finish the ceremony here by my throwing the wreath and the watertight package into the river. Then we go back to the lair and have a sort of celebration dinner."

The large crocodile had listened respectfully to all of Michelangelo's plans. He had decided on using a few of the items from his research and then had constructed his own plans for a memorial. He would be chief mourner, and wear the special outfit; there would be a tablet for summoning the ancestors ("Master Yoshi being the only one, though"), and a table with some food prepared especially by Michelangelo ("I think he would have liked cheese nachos and pizza with lots of veggie toppings.").

Then, after a eulogy written by Michelangelo, they were to offer incense to the departed, then make a procession with candles through the tunnels leading to this part of the river, where Michelangelo would say a few more words, then throw two items into the river, hoping that they would both float out to sea-- a wreathe made of forget-me-nots ("April said she would do her best to get me one! I hope she succeeds! It just seems the most appropriate flower to use."), and a beautiful, brand-new copy of "Frankenstein", inscribed with a personal message from Mikey to Victor ("But I'm not showing it to anyone-- it needs to be personal."), wrapped tightly in many layers of waterproof wrapping, and secured in a specially designed container that would, if its programing worked according to Donatello's plans, not only ensure that it made it a good distance out into the ocean, but would suddenly open grooves along its sides, thereby flooding the container with water, and sinking below the surface, where (hopefully) no one would ever find it.

Leatherhead smiled to himself as Michelangelo waited for his approval. He did not understand why the young Turtle valued his opinion on the matter, but he was very fond of him and wanted to help in any way with his grieving process.

"It sounds like an excellent plan," he told him, and he didn't need to be looking at Michelangelo to know that the Turtle was beaming in satisfaction. "Donatello asked me to look over his plans for the container, and I do not think that either of you will have to worry. Professor Honeycutt also seems to thing it a very unique device. It is a shame that Donatello cannot get the recognition he deserves in this world for his brilliant mind."

"Yeah, I'll bet Donnie could win Scientist of the Year!" Michelangelo agreed fervently. "He's made so much of our stuff, and if he can see what something is made of, he can copy it and even make it better! I bet there isn't anything--"

A strange noise cut off Mikey's praise of his brainy brother, and put both of them on alert. A hollow laugh, faint and threatening, had reached their reptilian ears, covered as they were with the snug and warm hats they wore against the cold.

Mikey's 'chuks were out of his deep pockets in a flash. He was glad he'd worn the gloves instead of his more comfortable mittens; the gloves made use of the weapons easier. Both of them had faded into the shadows of the already dark night without a sound. Each tried to locate the source of the sound, tried to determine if it was a threat or a passing noise.

"Run!" they both heard a frightened voice in the distance, and focusing their better than human eyesight on the general location, they saw in a moment the source of the warning running quickly towards them. Right behind him were three others, but they were not chasing the first-- Mikey saw at once that they were gang members, though he wasn't sure which one at the moment-- he sniffed in disdain--_ Purple Dragon wannabes_-- and almost laughed at the fear evident in their manner as they hightailed it out of wherever they were coming from.

Mikey had started to relax, to turn to speak to Leatherhead, when the Crocodile, stiffening, warned him to silence, pointing back to where they had been looking.

The gang members had passed their hiding place quickly; the sounds of their footsteps faded into the night, only to be replaced by a new sound-- the sound of a thousand floorboards that needed replacing, the sound of a million balloons being rubbed together to produce that irritating noise for ticking off your brothers-- the sound of squeaking magnified by hundreds and hundreds of--

"Rats!" Mikey spoke the word involuntarily, as he caught sight of what L.H. had already seen.

Literally hundreds of rats poured out of the darkness into the pale glow of a stray security light. It looked like a black flood of water the way it flowed forwards, yet it was hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of rats! They were grouped together and moving as if with one purpose-- to follow the intruders that had dared to trespass on their home!

That strange hollow laugh sounded again, followed by a sharp whistle, and the rats halted their forward progress, milled about for a few seconds, and then began flowing back into the darkness.

Mikey realized that he was gripping his weapons from fear. That entire scene had filled him with a creepy horror, as if he'd been watching some late-night fright fest!

His eyes strained against the darkness, searching for the source of the laugh and the whistle-- there! A brief glimpse-- a tall person-- damn the dark! Mikey could not make out anything except the fact that it appeared to be a tall man-- then the figure and the rats were swallowed up in the night.

"Did you get a good look at him?" he asked Leatherhead, eyes still on the darkness where the mysterious person had disappeared.

"No. But it was a human. Of that I am certain."

Mikey swallowed a few times. A human? A human who apparently controlled **rats**? For those creatures had certainly followed this guy's command to halt-- what else could that whistle have meant?

"Uh, suddenly I want to go home," he said, voice shaking and not from the cold. "I think I need to talk to Master Splinter."

"Yes," Leatherhead agreed, almost shepherding his young friend before him as they quickly made their way back to the entrance to their underground dwellings. "I think I need to have a few words with him myself."


	9. Chapter 9

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Damn plot bunnies! They're in open revolt at the moment... some stupid rant about shorter hours, more carrot breaks, unlimited access to my iPod (something about hiphop music)... oh, thanks to Terran for letting me chat out my frustrations, btw.

TMNT do not belong to me, or to you, or to anyone else-- except for Mirage, naturally.

**Contemplations**

Splinter listened to his son's description of what he and Leatherhead had witnessed. The very idea of someone who could apparently control rats was disturbing to say the least. Splinter wondered at the implications of such news, and applied it to his litmus test of level of danger: i.e., how would this affect his family's safety?

"And you are quite certain that the creatures were under this man's command?" Splinter asked, after they had sat in silence for a few minutes, taking in what Michelangelo and Leatherhead had reported.

"There was a laugh, then a sharp whistle, like this--" here Mikey did his best to imitate the short, shrill, single-noted sound that had caused the rats to stop their forward motion-- "and then they stopped, and then turned around and headed back where they came from. So, yeah, Sensei, I'd say they pretty much were being controlled or something."

Splinter looked to Donatello, who had also listened to this tale in silence. His imagination was working overtime as it came up with idea after idea of how such a thing could be done.

"Hmmm... You didn't notice him holding anything?" the brainy turtle asked Leatherhead. "Something that could be used as a control device?"

"It was very dark, even for my eyes," the Crocodile replied. "But it did not appear that anything was in this man's hands. He could have been wearing a headset of some sort-- there was something odd about his shape. Something I cannot quite put my finger on. And then, he disappeared so quickly there really was no time to get a better view."

"Some sort of device that can control rats," Don mused. "But the only way that would be feasible is if they all had collars or some sort of computer chip inserted into their brains, and who the heck would have the time and patience to do that to that many rats?"

"Bishop," Mikey heard himself say, shocking even himself. He hadn't mentioned that name in months. The others looked at him, eyes wide. He grinned weakly. "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. But it sounds like something that guy would have done."

"My son, Bishop is no longer a threat," Splinter needlessly reminded him, still feeling the need to protect his youngest from this "boogyman" despite the skill this two-time Battle Nexus Champion possessed.

"Yeah, I know," Mikey said. "But I don't know, it just-- I don't think this guy was using any kind of technology to control those rats, that's all. I mean, it just seemed-- **natural**."

"Where exactly was this?" Leo asked. Splinter suddenly looked at his eldest.

"You are not thinking of going there," he said sharply, ears suddenly flat in unknown worry and unexplained anger; not asked, more like ordered.

"We should check this out, Sensei. It sounds threatening, and we need to know," Leo reasoned, forcefully. Then he turned back to his brother. "Well, Mikey?"

Mikey and Leatherhead told them the general vicinity. Don got his laptop and pulled up after a few minutes a map of the area.

"Is there **anywhere** that you don't have a map of?" Raph asked, as they crowded around the screen.

"Yeah, your bedroom-- and I don't see how even **you** get through that jungle without one," came the easy reply. "Very close to the river. A lot of these buildings are right up next to the water-- but most are empty now. There are still plenty of active warehouses and businesses in the area, however. You would think they'd notice something like this going on."

"Unless it only takes place at night," Leo replied, studying the image. "Mikey, could you tell which gang those guys were from?"

"Nope, but I doubt they're very established," he replied. "They definitely weren't the Purple Dragons."

"The Dragons don't consider themselves a gang anymore," Raph said, playing with a sai. "Casey hasn't seen any on the streets lately-- just these newbie-types who are trying to fill the gap left by Hun's group. They've moved up in the world-- Organized Crime time."

"I'm guessing they're trying to rival the Foot," Don said, making a few notes on his program. "When April and I went to check out that 'memorial library' shortly after it opened, this limo pulled up, and Hun came out of a back office, followed by Karai. You'd think they were legitimate business people the way they were dressed. But there was no love lost between them, you could tell. She thanked him for his financial contribution to the museum-- and the strange thing was, she didn't do it in a way to draw attention, so I think it was legitimate-- and then he left."

Leo, still smarting at the confirmation of what he'd already known-- that Karai had broken her word and could not be trusted-- managed to keep all trace of his bitter anger out of his voice and appearance.

"Speaking of them, it appears they are searching for someone," Leo mentioned. In the aftermath of their rescue by Splinter and the sudden arrival of Mikey and Leatherhead to tell the Rat what had happened, Raph and Leo had not had much chance to tell their brothers what they'd witnessed prior to getting their asses kicked.

"I think they're lookin' for that guy," Raph said, as Leo told the briefest of stories to Don and Mikey, glossing over the poor judgment Leo had shown as well as the timely rescue by the father they had tried desperately to ditch. "You know, Mikey-- the one the Dragons was lookin' for, back before--"

In the middle of balancing his sai on its point on one finger, he froze, realizing he'd crossed into Splinter's "no mans land" topic. The sai clattered to the ground, making an ominous sound that echoed throughout the room.

Splinter, already on edge from the activities of earlier, barely moved a whisker at this piece of news. Though in deference to his guest he had (with great strength of character) kept himself in check, the guys could tell, just by the fact that he had taken on the appearance of a finely carved statue at this bit of information, that he was pissed and pissed royally.

"I-- I am curious, I have to admit," Leatherhead's refined tones broke the uneasy silence, "just why anyone is searching for this-- this-- human", and even Splinter could detect the reluctance and distaste and tragic emotion with which their large friend uttered that one word. Such anguish at Leatherhead's nightmarish memories of his enforced time under the control of Bishop took Splinter for the moment away from his own emotions, and he concentrated on comforting this fellow mutant, this newest family member-- this fifth son.

"It is hopeful to my way of thinking," Splinter found himself saying, careless sons momentarily forgotten in the lingering suffering of a fellow being, leaning forward to place a small rat hand on the massive arm of the Crocodile, "that if they are looking for him, he must have repented of his involvement. Of course, I have no way of knowing this, but that to me is the reason I find the most comfort in-- as should you, my friend."

Leatherhead, with a very noisy, very forced deep inhalation and exhalation, managed to keep his primal, wild side from overcoming his civilized side.

"The question is, what do we do?" Leo forced the issue, knowing that Splinter would NOT be in agreement with anything that the eldest turtle suggested at the moment. "Obviously this person is a threat! I think that we should go check the place out and do it at once! Don, you and Mikey will run the perimeters, keeping an eye out, and Raph and I will go into this first building--"

"You will do no such thing!"

Even Leatherhead was taken back by the force of those words as they burst from the diminutive Rat.

All four turtles stared at their master-- their father-- stunned into silence.

"You will do no such thing!" he repeated, voice not as loud but seemingly more forceful. "I forbid this! Donatello has ways to investigate this person without ANY of you going into unknown territory! You will do no such thing!"

"But Sensei--"

"If you disobey me on this, I will-- I will-- **spank** you!"

Everyone in the room stared in various reaction to Splinter's vitriolic outburst. Raph's face registered out and out disbelief, mirrored to a lesser degree by Mikey. Leo's stunned surprise did not prevent him from keeping eye contact with his Sensei, who was fiercely returning his gaze, as if mentally he already had them across his knee and was spanking away.

Don sat back with the happiest grin on his face Mikey, catching sight of it, ever remembered seeing there. **HIS** eyes were fixed with almost childish delight upon Leo and Splinter, watching the gazing confrontation as if observing some sort of fantastic chess match.

"Popcorn, anyone?" he asked, breaking the tension.

Mikey snorted at Don's question, and Splinter, brought back to some sort of awareness of his surroundings (and his guest-- _what must Leatherhead think of me?_), drew a deep, centering breath.

"Donatello, tomorrow you will show me what can be done to check into this person-- **without** anyone going into see first hand," Splinter said, and his voice registered nothing but calm. "Leatherhead, perhaps you would care to stay the night? I would not like to send you away so late. Michelangelo will give you his room, I am sure."

"Yeah! Let's have a movie night, L.H.!" Mikey enthused. "And you can bunk down with me! It'll be great! I've got some new ones I haven't had the chance to get to yet, all thanks to Don's fixing us up with TiVo!"

But the Crocodile politely refused.

"I am grateful for your offer, Master Splinter," he bowed, "but I believe that I will head for my own home. Thank you again."

Before he rose, though, he reached out a large hand and placed it on Splinter's shoulder.

"Do not worry any more, Master Splinter," he said simply. "Do not worry any more." Then he got up, said goodbye, and left.

"I am adamant," Splinter said after a few minutes to his sons, who had remained seated.

Leo looked at his brothers, then bowed in his seated position.

"Hai, Sensei," was all he said in response. The lingering tension seemed to dissipate, and the brothers as one got up and left.

Don looked back at Splinter, still seated like a statue, still gripping-- something-- with his furry hands. With a sympathetic sigh he went back, knelt down next to his father, and hugged him.

"I won't let them," was all he said, as the parent gratefully returned the hug, holding onto his son to keep himself from falling into his nightmare memories of a few months ago.

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Plenty of food. Plenty of fear. The outsiders had run from him and his friends, and his laugh still echoed around the building where he had chosen to live.

Back in his nest, several of the creatures that had become his closest friends waited respectfully until he was settled, then they joined him in becoming comfortable, though a few decided to play and have a good time to his amusement.

Our place. No one else may come into our place. Those-- others-- those outsiders-- next time would not leave. If they returned, they would not leave. He would protect his friends-- and himself-- at all costs.

Our place. Our home. Only we may live here. Safe. Warm. Fed. No one else.

He closed his eyes, keeping his mind only on the Now. He had discovered that the Now did not cause the pain-- only thinking of-- NO! Only the Now is important! No pain with the Now... no pain...

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"Leonardo?"

Karai spit out the name as if it were a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Hai, Mistress. The one with the katana. He and the one called Raphael interrupted one of our searches," the tall bald assistant reported.

It was late, but Karai had had much paper work to get through-- she longed for the days when her father had overseen this tedious business of their legitimate holdings. In those days she had been glad that there were such things for him to do-- he had been a shrewd businessman, and their legitimate activities nearly rivaled their "other" operation profit/wise.

Now, as she stared at a framed photo of her father that sat on her desk, she wished this oppressive paperwork and boring daily routine in the hands of others. She wanted to fight, to shed these uncomfortable "business clothes", put on her black outfit, strap on her katana, and fight!

She listened with growing anger to the report: they had not been successful. The leader had planned on killing the homeless man despite her orders. Then the Turtles had dropped in on them, killing two of her people.

"Reinforcements arrived," the assistant continued in an impassive voice-- though he knew his Mistress; he was well-aware of her disapproval of what had happened. "Unfortunately, before our people could finish the Turtles, the Rat showed up."

Now her head snapped up, her eyes flashed such hatred, such anger. _Their **father**? **Their** father had come to their rescue?_

With great difficulty she got herself under control.

"How many of our men did we lose?"

"Three dead, six injured, one seriously. The leader of the group received the least of the damage."

"Good. Have him prepared for punishment. He is to be beaten with the bamboo swords for failing in his mission. Then he is to be killed for daring to go against my word-- I do NOT want the homeless injured in any way. Make that clear to the others!"

"Hai, Mistress Karai," the bald assistant bowed his way out of the room.

Karai sat for a few more minutes, staring at the photograph of Oroku Saki, but focusing on her anger.

The Turtles were rescued by their father.

"I will take your father from you, Leonardo," she vowed aloud to the photograph. "I will take your father from you the way you took mine from me. And then, I will kill you with my own hands."

She abruptly arose from her desk and left. Business could wait. She was going to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

SPOILER: DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN WHAT HAPPENED TO SHREDDER IN "EXODUS" PART 2! SKIP TO THE DISCLAIMER AND MOVE ON! _For those who do not know-- Shredder is not (according to the series) dead. Without going into more of a spoiler detail than necessary, he is in exile. Only Karai, the Turtles, Honeycutt and their friends know this. To everyone else, Shredder is dead._

TMNT are the property of Mirage, who are backing the new CGI movie that I swear, I dreamed about last night in such a weird way-- the Three Stooges were portraying the Turtles, and Curly was MIKEY!---

**Concentration**

"Karai's group are not having any luck," Hun's second in command pointed out.

"Yeah-- I figured they might run into the same trouble," Hun responded, as the limo made its way through Midtown.

The snow that the cold snap had been promising had finally arrived. Though the streets were well-plowed, everyone was taking it slow. It had been quite a storm, and had pretty much shut down a lot of activity on both sides of the law.

"Have they had any more run-ins with the freaks?"

"No, Master Hun. Just that one time. But the weather, and the number of homeless-- forgive me, but this job is just impossible. If them government guys can't find him..." he trailed off, wondering if he'd gone too far. Hun had made him second-in-command, and he was supposed to offer his views (just as long as his views coincided with Hun's that is).

Hun merely grunted. He, too, was wondering if it were worth all the manpower.

And then he thought of what this guy could possibly do for him.

That bullshit story he'd told Karai about cloning-- he wasn't sure if it had worked, but at least she had agreed to put aside old differences and help search for this guy.

Whether she would let him **know** if she had found him or not was another matter. Fortunately, Hun still had a few friends in the Foot organization. The various bits of information that they slipped to him matched what his second-in-command was telling him now.

"I want this guy, no matter how hard it is to find him," he said, no trace of anger or bullying in his tone; merely a statement of fact. Hun himself marveled at his own self-control; leadership suited him, he had always known, but recent months had been a revelation to the behemoth who had only been used to using his sheer strength to get what he wanted. He had started attracting the attention of larger, legitimate business contacts, partly thanks to Ruffington, but more and more on his own.

It had floored him that he found a certain talent for the tedious paperwork end of these things; he even enjoyed it sometimes, sitting behind his desk with invoices, forms, ledgers and correspondence. He laughed to himself, wondering what his old man would have thought-- _not as stupid as you sai I was, eh Pop?_

"Keep looking, but scale back on the search," Hun decided. "Let's keep an eye on the Foot; if they find him, then all we gotta do is make sure Karai honors the agreement to turn him over to us. Let her ninja do the 'foot' work!"

The second-in-command laughed heartily; he wasn't stupid, he knew when Hun was making a joke, and he knew the right amount of force to put into the "appreciation" of the wittiness.

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"Damn it, Mikey, you're goin' down!" Raph bellowed, plowing through the snowdrift in pursuit of his younger brother, trailing the remains of the massive snowball he'd just been pelted full in the face with.

Mikey, with a high-pitched scream, ran as fast as he could, but traction was his downfall literally. He slipped and fell face first into a large fluffy drift. Before he could recover, Raph was on him, and it took a lot of his ninja training to keep from getting both frostbite and beaten to death by his loving brother.

"Come on, Raph! Where's your sense of humor?" Leo, practicing katas in the snow, wasn't watching the sibling carnage, but he knew that Mikey deserved it. Well, perhaps not hypothermia. "Let him up out of that drift before he goes into hibernation. I for one do NOT want to carry him home. He's gained weight."

On the roof of a warehouse that was close enough for their investigations into the mysterious "pied piper" (as Mikey had started referring to him) yet far enough away to honor Splinter's command, the foursome were mixing business with pleasure. Don was taking final readings with his various instruments, inputting all the information into his handy laptop, keeping up a constant stream of indecipherable (to Leo) chatter with Prof. Honeycutt via shell cell.

Raph, in his enthusiasm for the white stuff, had been building a magnificent snowturtle with the help of Mikey-- who just could NOT resist lobbing the occasional snowball at his brothers.

The first one to hit Don's precious laptop had earned Mikey his first "beating" of the late afternoon ("Man, I've never see Don so riled up!" Raph had commented to Leo as they'd watched their youngest brother trying to dodge-- and failing to do so-- the well-aimed swings of the expertly wielded bo staff as it repeatedly found its target, namely Mikey's ass).

"Yeah, I'm not gonna do it either," Raph agreed, and with a final shove down into the snow, he got off of Mikey and made his way back to his creation.

Mikey, spitting out the mouthful of snow that Raph had been force-feeding him, still managed to grin his thanks to Leo.

"Aww, always looking out for me!" he said cheerfully. "I'm going to repay you someday, loving brother of mine!"

"Just make sure no more snowballs come at me," Leo, still doing katas, said, leaving any implied threat to Mikey's vast imagination.

"Don, you about finished? I'm freezin' my ass off," Raph, putting the finishing touches on his "snow sculpture", had started to show the effects of being outside for so long. He had shed a lot of the outerwear, as had the others, when they had been active, keeping warm with their practice and sparring. Now he quickly donned the jacket, gloves and even boots, wondering why none it warmed him up, and dreaming of a nice mug of hot chocolate, full of those little marshmallows that he liked so much.

Don, the only one who had immediately gotten redressed after Leo's insistence that they train unencumbered by the warm, protective yet bulky outerwear, merely made some noncommittal grunt and continued taking readings, staring at various buildings with his specially designed goggles, making notes, and communicating with Honeycutt.

Leo looked at Don and sighed.

"Why don't you and Mikey head back?" Leo suggested, noticing that the youngest brother, though he still was tossing snowballs at the unprotesting warehouses, seeing how far he could throw the easily packed, frosty missiles, was beginning to look more blue than green. "I'll wait here with Don."

Raph would normally have argued this, but he was too damn cold.

"Come on, Mikey!" he ordered. "You're gonna make me the biggest cup of hot chocolate in the world for peltin' me with that snowball."

The youngest turtle did not argue. He, too, had wanted to go home-- hell, he'd been wanting to go home for the past half hour, and not because of the cold. As he'd been staring down at the street where he and Leatherhead had been walking a few days ago, he kept seeing in his mind that sight of the rats, flowing like liquid in a relentless tide-- only to halt and retreat to the sound of that whistle.

As he threw a few final balls of snow, a sudden movement near the corner of one of the warehouses drew his attention. Before he could react, the last snowball he'd thrown hit someone just coming around the side-- smack square in the face!

Mikey had already ducked down safely out of sight. He waited for someone to shout, to curse, to threaten the world with retribution.

"Mikey, what did you do?"

Raph's accusing voice reached his ears, and he turned to see his brothers also staying out of sight-- they had seen him dive for cover.

"Probably hit some security guy with a snowball," Don grumbled as he still kept working.

"Doesn't sound like whoever he hit seems to mind," Leo commented. They were all puzzled by the lack of outraged protest.

Mikey eased up slowly, peered over the side-- and froze! The man he'd hit was still standing there in the gloom of the late afternoon. He was standing still, and staring directly up at where the snowball had come from.

He made eye-contact with Mikey-- and Mikey felt as if things were spinning. He was conscious of his heart racing uncontrollably; his breathing was fast and shallow; his mind was blanking in strange ways--

"Mikey!"

He snapped back to himself, realizing that he was staring straight into Raph's concerned face. He'd been shaking him by the shoulders, trying to get his attention.

"Mikey! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Maybe he's hypothermic," Don, still absorbed in his research, said without concern. "Take him home and warm him up."

Mike looked back towards the street. No one was there. He looked back at his older brother. He tried to speak, but his mouth had forgotten how to work it seemed. His voice cracked; his throat was tight and dry, and he could not swallow for a minute.

"Bro, you need to snap outta it and come on," Raph sad, trying not to sound concerned, yet failing miserably. He began to lead Mikey towards their exit.

Mikey looked back again, knowing he would see nothing.

Ghost. That's all it was. A ghost. He had just seen a ghost from his imagination.

A ghost with a familiar, strange way of staring.

Victor.

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Stockman checked and rechecked the information. No matter what he told this woman, she was going to not accept it. But what she wanted was impossible.

Bishop may have had the secret of prolonging his own existence, but science could only do so much once the brain was damaged.

Stockman, genius that he was, still did not understand why or how he could still be "alive" as it were; a fully functioning brain that existed in this strange bio-fluid, in control of this new and improved robotic body that he (naturally) had designed and had built. The Shredder had known many strange things that he had passed on to others-- like that rock for brains homicidal caveman Hun-- but to this day the secret Utrom method of preserving Stockman's brain and restoring "life" to him was still a mystery.

When Shredder had been destroyed (A/N-- see top of this chapter), Stockman had managed to bring many of his secrets, his inventions, his research, and other such things and turn them over to Bishop, who had marveled at the amount of information that had fallen into his lap as it were. But this process of preserving the brain...

Stockman looked again at what the Turtles had left of Bishop. Bishop had been successful in cloning himself, though only a few of those still existed, forever preserved in the bio-fluid, useless for anything except perhaps research. If Stockman had the ability of Shredder, perhaps he could technically "bring back" Bishop.

But though he was not a religious man, he did know that once something is dead, and has been dead for a while-- that something is gone. That "something" that made that person unique is no more.

"Well, I'm obviously the exception," he sniffed disdainfully, putting the remains away for the day and preparing to go about his own business of trying to regenerate a real body for his magnificent brain-- to truly be "alive" again.

He'd worry about what he'd tell this obsessive woman later.

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The cold white stuff had hit him in the face. He stood there, partly surprised, partly curious. He seldom ventured out before it was fully dark, but the cold white fluffy substance had drawn him out. It was unique to him. His friends stayed in the relative warmth of the lair, huddled together sleepily, hungry but not hungry enough to venture out in such conditions at the moment. Later there would be need, but right now... sleeping and keeping warm was better.

He had spent many minutes touching this stuff, examining it, tasting it, manipulating it with his hands. Despite the growing numbness of his fingers, he was fascinated with it, and felt at peace.

It had been strange, how it fell from above, and the word "beautiful" had flashed consciously into his memory-- normally he refused memories, they brought the PAIN-- but this did not.

He examined his own prints in the white stuff, deliberately making more. He walked around, staring at his feet as they plunged into the deep, soft piles of this mysterious material.

He knew water; when it turned to water in his hands and in his mouth, it had made him smile.

As he walked around the building in the waning of the afternoon, he had suddenly been hit in the face!

He stared up in the direction of the "attack". His eye focused on the top of a building. No one was in sight, yet...

As he continued to stare, a strange figure slowly rose up, peering over the side, looking down. Green against the white of the soft piles of this stuff, green against the gray gloom of the above-- green and familiar...

They locked eyes. He stared into this creatures eyes, but he did not understand why.

The creature stared back, as if turned to stone.

Then another showed up, shaking the first, and he slipped away, slipped away back to the safety of his friends.

He did not understand why, but he had felt the need to escape, to get back to his nest, to be with the NOW! The pain was beginning, and he needed the comfort of his friends before it crippled him into inaction.

He barely got settled when it hit! PAIN! PAIN so bad he cried out, startling his closest companions into a squeaking, scattering activity!

PAIN!

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"Sensei, can I talk with you?"

Mikey had knocked at Splinter's door. It was late at night, and everyone had thawed out and gone to bed early for once. But Mikey couldn't sleep.

He'd debated all evening over what he'd thought he'd seen; it was his imagination-- maybe-- no, it was! Victor was dead! He just thought he'd seen him because he's been planning the memorial-- yeah, that was it!

Those eyes...

"Come in, my son," the reply cut into his thoughts, and Mikey entered, bowing and then kneeling down next to his father.

Splinter had been reading, though Mikey could see that he was almost ready for bed. He felt bad coming in here, bothering Splinter. Splinter had not had any stress-free days since that night--

Mikey smiled nervously.

"What is it, Michelangelo?" Splinter encouraged his son gently, wondering what sort of trouble the youngest once again found himself in. "Have you broken something of Donatello's? Are you in the bad graces of Raphael, perhaps?"

He waited for the protest at such accusations, but none came. He could see that something substantial was disturbing his son's peace, something beyond pillowcases filled with rocks or messy food remains carelessly dripped upon precious computer keyboards.

His son seemed unable to speak for the moment; then he looked his father in the eyes, and they reflected the hesitancy he was feeling.

He roughly cleared his throat; took a deep breath:

"Father-- do you believe in ghosts?"


	11. Chapter 11

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Okay, kind of a long chapter, but I had to do it.

TMNT are-- snifflesniffle-- not mine, they are the property of Mirage. Dr. Baker, Agent Grant, and three other OCs in here, however, are mine, not that they'll ever make me rich.

**Confusion**

Splinter sat staring at nothing long after Michelangelo had fallen asleep. They had talked for over an hour about what his son had thought he had seen earlier. Splinter, without a word, had pulled the spare futon from the storage space and made it up.

Mikey, without a word but with a touch of relief, gladly accepted the gesture, and, sitting snug under the thick quilt, had voiced his hopes and his doubts.

Now, asleep, Splinter looked at his son and thought about all they had spoken of.

"I know he was dead, Father. I could tell he was dead. You don't mistake something like that, not after the life we've led," Michelangelo had insisted, and had even tried to joke-- but he felt far from joking.

"I know, my son. Donatello explained to me more of this device that Bishop had implanted into his victims," Splinter had replied, shuddering in spite of himself; after all, Bishop had been in the process of painfully inserting one of those "failsafe"s into Splinter's own brain, until the arrival of the Slayer, carrying what Bishop (and Splinter) had believed were the dead bodies of two of his sons.

Splinter closed his eyes, trying to shut that memory out-- even now it haunted him, mostly because of what had happened afterwards; how very much it had almost become real.

"He can't have recovered, right? I mean, Donnie says that even though Bishop had almost achieved regenerating organs-- well, a damaged brain is a damaged brain-- right? I know he could not recover-- he was dead. I know he was dead. But today-- that guy-- if it was a guy-- that was Victor-- but it couldn't be him, 'cause he is dead. I know he is dead."

"My son, let us consider the following explanations," Splinter had said calmly, trying to soothe his son's agitated spirit. "First-- Victor is alive. We have your own confirmation as well as Donatello's expertise to dismiss that as a possibility."

Mikey had swallowed hard to hide his disappointment-- he had always held out a child-like hope that this would be possible-- that Victor had escaped somehow.

"Second-- you witnessed the visitation of a 'ghost'," Splinter continued. "I do believe that there are spirits who visit us. I have had visions of my Master Yoshi-- you remember all too well, I am sure, of the 'message' I took away from that last one."

Mikey shuddered now. He hated remembering that trip on that ill-fated ship; the decision to kill themselves had been the right one, and looking back on it, he had not been scared as he thought he might have been. Strangely enough, he had felt rather calm and at peace with the decision.

Now, however, it gave him the shakes to think of that situation, and he hoped never ever to be in that type of life-or-death choice again!

"Third-- you could have been hallucinating," Splinter concluded. "When Raphael brought you home, you were almost blue it seemed to me. You were all out in that cold and snow-- I am sure you did not put your jacket and other clothes back on right away, did you?"

Mikey sheepishly grinned. True, he had been one of the last to gear up again. And even though he had bundled back up, being force-fed snow by Raph while pinned down in that drift had been pretty damn cold!

"It could be that, with your mind so focused over the past few weeks on planning the memorial for Victor, coupled with the cold affecting your thinking, you thought you saw him staring up at you."

Mikey considered this explanation. Of the three, he guessed that this was the obvious choice. He had felt a bit fevery ever since their return to the lair; he hoped he wasn't coming down with a cold or the flu-- the memorial would have to be put on hold, and his plans were almost complete, right down to the day and time of the outgoing currents (thanks to ever-helpful Donatello and his handy-dandy Internet skills!). April had ordered the Shinishozoku for him, and it would be ready in a few more days. It would seem odd to be wearing something that basically was an altered shroud, and it was all in white, a color that the turtle felt made him look like a giant marshmallow-- yet Mikey had wanted to do this, creepy as it sounded to his brothers (Raph: Why you wanna dress up in grave clothes? Makes you sound like a ghoul, and you know how those movies scare the shit outta you!).

"Yes, it must have been my imagination after all," he had concluded. "I know he is not alive. I guess it could have been a ghost, even though it was still light outside and all. But I have been thinking a lot about the memorial, and I was pretty cold."

Then he had smiled gratefully at Splinter for letting him talk it out, and with a "thanks, Dad," had immediately laid down, snuggled under the warm quilt, and within five minutes was sound asleep.

Splinter sighed, blew out the candles that he favored over the electric lights, and settled himself into his own bed.

Could this Victor indeed be alive? No, and Splinter did not believe that it was a spirit, either-- but who knew? He had experienced enough in his strange life to know that anything was possible.

Except for Victor being alive.

With great effort, he managed to not dream of his time in the clutches of Bishop. He had often dreamed of it in the beginning, but he had mastered this nightmare to the point that he could prevent it from even happening. And he knew that tonight it would be lurking in the corners of his mind, waiting and watching for any weakness-- but Splinter was strong. There was no way he was going to allow a dead man rule the rest of his life with his unspeakable evil.

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"You cannot regenerate the brain," Stockman said yet again this morning. He was growing tired of having to say this. The woman seemed rather intelligent; why could she not grasp this simple fact?

"We have his clones, we have his body, we have his research," she was insistent. "Why can we not have him back?"

"Lady, dead is dead!" he snapped finally. "Don't you get it? You're asking me to play Dr. Frankenstein, and it's NOT going to be Agent Bishop if it works! Cloning does NOT mean having the same memories, the same learning, the same anything except a duplicate of the original! Didn't you learn anything from your time with him?"

Stockman, who had no room in his megalomania for equals, nevertheless had admired and-- dare he say it-- respected Bishop and all he had accomplished. He had taken what he'd gleaned from alien technology and aliens themselves, and had built upon and expanded upon it to benefit his organization in their (rather obsessive, but who was Stockman to point fingers?) mission to protect the Earth from the outside universe. If there were a way to genuinely bring Bishop back, he would do it gladly.

"Once the brain dies, that's it! It's like pulling a hard-drive," he continued, hating to use such an inaccurate comparison, but he figured that this would probably be all she could understand. "You want me to bring back someone who has died months ago!"

The woman was stubborn. She had been with Bishop a long time. She knew many of his secrets, and had known of his plans and work in regeneration. She sighed in frustration-- perhaps if she presented it in a different light, this idiot would do as she requested.

She looked around, making sure that any of the assistants could not hear what she was about to say.

"Look-- Bishop would want someone to try-- if only for the research value," she said softly. "Even if it ended up failing, even if he ended up a drooling, mindless vegetable, anything is worth it for the research value!"

Stockman stared, partly amused, partly impressed. She was if anything tenacious-- and clever after all. What she was saying was not the truth, he knew that, but he had to admire just a little bit her intent on making this happen.

"So you're saying that the great Agent Bishop, who had no compunction about experimenting on his own people as well as aliens, would never object to experimentation on himself?" he smoothly asked. "I knew he had a cold-blooded streak in him, but really, this takes the cake!"

She drew herself up to her full height of five ft. four in. Her shiny black hair, short and curly, reflected the lab lights, giving the impression that sparks were creating a halo around her head. Her brown eyes stared directly into the hologram face of Dr. Stockman, and he could tell that she was more than determined. She had a powerful-- well, obsession just did not seem strong enough word to describe her attitude, but it was all the genius could think of-- yes, this overwhelmingly powerful obsession with bringing Bishop back.

"Of course, if **you** can't do it," she trailed off in that pathetic and cliché manner of some who think they will get what they want by appealing to the overblown ego of another.

Stockman laughed in a very amused way. She was priceless! He almost liked her. Almost.

"All right, Agent Grant," he finally said. "We will try it your way--"

"Bishop's way," she corrected. "I will return later with his most private files. Perhaps somewhere in there is the key we need."

Stockman watched as she hurried out of the lab, and in his imagination he could see her skipping in her satisfaction.

A strange thought occurred to him: had they been-- perhaps-- **lovers**?

He started laughing, quietly at first, and then it built until he was drawing the attention of the assistants. They had heard him laugh before, but this time there was a difference to it. It was as if he had heard the funniest joke.

"Oh, Agent Grant," he sighed shaking his head, still laughing. "Naughty girl, I believe I know now what you're after!"

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Baker was serving food today in the shelter. It was his turn to stand there, ladling out soup to whomever wanted some to accompany the rest of their meal, as the faceless men and women-- and children-- slowly made their way down the cafeteria-style line, accepting whatever was being served.

Pea soup today. Baker had never liked pea soup. Something about its color, combined with its texture, had always caused him to gag when his mother had forced him to eat it-- and he had to eat it regardless. His mamma did NOT allow food to go to waste, and you ate whether you wanted to or NOT!

"The fog was as thick as pea soup," he mumbled to himself, trying to remember when he had first heard that simile. Probably grade school. Stupid simile, he'd been in fog, and he'd been forced to eat pea soup-- the two simply did not compare. Whoever had come up with that to describe the fog was unimaginative or else had never experienced either of the objects in question. Probably some...

A slight disturbance, nothing much, just a bit of unintended pushing further back in the line caught his attention.

"Sorry, pal, didn't mean it," a voice mumbled, and Baker, looking on, noticed one of the regulars-- an old, wizened man who looked like he was eighty but Baker knew to be only in his sixties-- hard living, booze, and other things had aged him greatly. He was clean and sober for two years now, or so he professed, but he was still a crabby old man who did not let people real or imagined push him around.

Today, however, he seemed to be arguing with a real person. That had been the one to speak, Baker knew-- the old man had a voice with the volume of a foghorn-- and he was about to use it.

"Sorry nothin'! NO CUTS!"

The man in question looked really pissed off, but he kept his voice in check.

"I said I was sorry, old man. My mistake. I didn't see you standing there." And he moved to the back of the line, trying to avoid any more attention.

Baker knew at once this man was not homeless. He'd been on the streets among these people long enough to know he was a fake. The clothes were a little too obvious-- like new stuff that had been distressed and dirtied on purpose.

The jeans the man wore were a brand that went for eighty dollars at Macys. Baker suspected that the shoes, though "old", were also of a brand name that would be beyond what anyone on the street would find in the piles of free clothing in a shelter or mission.

The jacket was down-- he was sure of it. That was in itself not impossible, but the clincher was the man himself: Baker recognized him as one of Bishop's "search and destroy" soldiers.

Cold fear gripped him. Head down, he was sure that he'd not been seen. He ladled some more soup into the countless bowls, marveling in the back of his mind how it was he hadn't spilled one drop in his fear.

The line kept moving; the man was closer. Baker, out of the corner of his eye, noticed that every now and then he serepticiously glanced first at something in his gloved hand, then at any African-American male who happened to be near him.

He hadn't spotted Baker yet. Baker looked into the large pot-- it still contained plenty of pea soup, but if he didn't do this now, he'd never get the chance to escape. Picking it up, mumbling some excuse about getting more, he causally carried it into the kitchen. At the stove was Jayne, cooking away as usual.

"Out already?" The cheerful older woman who was one of the mainstays here-- she had come in homeless herself years ago, and had found an indispensable place here as the main cook-- quickly moved to retrieve the pot from Baker. "Why, there's still--"

"Look, I've got no time to explain," he said, grabbing his coat from the pile. "I've got to go. Those people who are after me-- one is out there now. Sorry! I've got to go!"

Before she could stop him, offer him protection, or even find out what this person looked like, he was out the back door.

She stood there, slightly surprised. There were many in the shelter with some story of being hunted-- usually it was part of their delusions-- but this!

Filling the pot, she went out herself to the line, and started ladling out soup, her eye on the line. Everything seemed normal to her-- ah HA! She'd spotted the fake. Even longer than Baker, she had lived on the streets. She knew the real thing from the undercover guys.

Well, well, well-- this called for a special action.

"Hey, Reverend!" she cheerfully shouted, catching the attention of one of the people who ran this particular shelter.

An older man, white, in his fifties, ex-wrestler, ex-bouncer, and currently a preacher, turned and looked at the cook.

"We got us a convert!" she announced with a smile, using the "code word" they'd devised for dealing with those who were always snooping around, trying to find some way to shut this place down.

The Reverend grinned in anticipation.

"Praise the Lord! We're gonna have to welcome this new soul!" and he winked at Jayne.

This would buy Baker some time, she knew. Once the Reverend snagged the guy, he'd be in front of the entire group, being prayed over and sung to and welcomed whether he wanted it or not! Jayne chuckled as she continued to ladle soup. This was gonna be good!

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The day had come and gone with little more than training and chores. Donnie had worked most of the day with Honeycutt and Leatherhead perfecting and planning and preparing to monitor this new development regarding the mysterious person who seemed to control rats. This involved many of Don's remote control devices that were not much bigger than those mini-racing cars that were so popular a few years ago. With these babies, Don had explained to Splinter, there would be no need for any of them to enter any of those warehouses.

"And the range on these is pretty spectacular, even if I do say so myself," he grinned in self-satisfaction, earning an amused smile from his father.

"Well done, Donatello!" he praised him nonetheless. "This is most excellent."

"Of course, we still have to be topside to work them," Don pointed out, "but we can operate them from that rooftop where I made the preliminary study."

Splinter nodded. As long as none of them tried to enter those buildings on their own, this was fine with him.

Mikey was fighting off a cold. He'd awoken with that nasty feeling one gets-- not quite sick, but feeling as if it was going to happen-- stuffy nose, that irritating sore spot in the throat that alternately hurt or itched like crazy, and a headache that felt worse than one of Raph's headlocks. He'd been drinking herbal teas all day, so much so that he spent a lot of his time in the bathroom peeing it all out again.

"You should wrap up and rest, my son," Splinter told him, serving him broth and whatever else he requested.

"I will, Sensei," Michelangelo promised. And he intended to. There was NO way he was going to be sick! NO WAY!

Raph, true to his word, had not gone above ground. Splinter had told them either with Mikey and Don, or with him. Don was preoccupied, Mikey was too determined to threaten or cajole, and there was no way in hell he was gonna go to dear old Dad and say "Let's you and me go to Casey's and hang out for a while, eh?"

Besides, the last time they had done that, they'd made the mistake of playing poker once again with Splinter, and once again he'd cleaned them out.

So instead he was currently getting in some extra training on the heavy bags, determined to get to a point where his father would not need to save his sorry ass the next time Raph encountered the foot-- and there was gonna be a next time!

Leo scoped out the scene. Raph was in the dojo. Mikey was bundled up on the couch, alternately watching a movie and snoozing. Don, Leatherhead, and Honeycutt were still locked away in Don's lab.

Splinter was in the kitchen, making preparations for supper.

Out the door. Down the tunnels. Out the pipe.

Dark already, though it was barely five in the evening. Too early for gang activity. Too early for anyone to miss him.

Leo kept close to the buildings by the waterfront, until he was at the one Don was planning on sending his little spies into sometime tomorrow. The sky was clear, but the moon was not up yet, and Leo had to rely on the special goggles that Don had created for them.

Scanning the ground was fruitless-- too many footprints for Leo to discern anything out of the ordinary. This place was busy during the day, even around the empty warehouses. Tire tracks, boot prints, the occasional dog or cat paw, even pigeon prints-- nothing that looked like rat impressions.

Leo looked around. Once again, no activity. The winter months seemed to curtail the evening work-- and the cold kept the security guards snug inside their little monitoring rooms, drinking coffee and waiting for their next break.

Around to the side closest the river. Scanning the ground here was a bit more rewarding. A long line of rodent tracks-- Leo could not determine the number, but definitely more than a few, and all heading in one direction-- past this warehouse and into the next. Leo, senses alert to the slightest disturbance, followed the trail right up to a small opening, where a dockside door was slightly ajar.

He looked at the ground again. Tracks came from other directions, all headed into this particular building. As he carefully made his way along the side, he found a few more places where the rats had entered.

The magnitude began to register on his brain. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds-- a cold fear gripped him now; he turned and headed back as fast as he dared.

Then, before he could reach the previous warehouse, curiosity overtook him. Above were windows. Examining the sides, he found that he could climb with somewhat relative ease the various outcroppings and pipes and such up to them. Perhaps he would be able to get a good look inside...

As he prepared to do so, a soft something brushed against his foot; several soft somethings brushed against his feet.

Looking down he saw the rats, about seven or eight. They were sniffing him, squeaking and chirping and milling around him as if they were not afraid.

With a quick jump, he cleared the little circle, landing several feet away from them-- and with one noise they came after him.

"Shit!" He ran as fast as he could, quickly outdistancing the furry little scavengers.

He passed the first warehouse; the pipe was in sight. Turning his head briefly, he noticed a sort of black tide coming after him!

"Aww!" He knew they'd follow him into the sewers-- or would they? Quickly he pulled from his belt a pouch that Mikey liked to call their "ninja dust"-- really just a combination of cayenne pepper and various chilies ground together by Don. Taking a chance, he started scattering it across his scent, hoping that the rats would get a good stinging whiff of that and stop chasing.

Then he pelted into the pipe, sticking to the water, running as quietly as he'd been trained.

He took a few different junctions, just to make sure that he'd thrown anyone off his trail. He had stopped once, to catch his breath and to try to discern if any of the rats had indeed followed him into the sewers.

He encountered rats on the way, but they had scattered at his approach and had not followed-- perhaps they were not part of that other group?

Slowing down now, he approached home, thinking of what he'd observed, which he had to ruefully admit to himself wasn't much.

And he knew that he was definitely in for it-- that had taken longer than he'd planned. But it had been worth it. He now had an idea where this man was, if he existed-- and something must be controlling those rats, they don't just congregate like that on their own.

Steeling himself, he approached the door of the lair-- and found it locked.

Great. No chance of sneaking back in. He tried the code in the hidden control panel, knowing that that would attract unwanted attention.

Nothing.

Damn it! Was the thing not working? He tried several times, but no luck. The door remained stubbornly locked. He'd have to go the long way to the surface, to the garage, and take the elevator.

He'd just started when the door opened on its own.

Or rather, when it was opened for him. Framed in the doorway, backlit by the bright room lights, was the unmistakable form of his father, hand on hips.

Leo stared for a few minutes, rooted to the spot.

"Well? Are we going to stand here all night?" Splinter finally asked, standing aside to allow entry. "Or are you going to come in?"

Leo, head down, slowly made his way into the lair, not daring to look at his father as he passed by--

**SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!**

"Ow!" he yelped loudly, as the stinging paw of parental anger found his backside quickly and expertly.

And Donnie, eating popcorn, was there to witness it.


	12. Chapter 12

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I have to thank Splinter/Terran! Chatting with her helps me when the plot bunnies are being stroppy with me!

TMNT do not belong to moi. They do not belong to vous. They belong to Mirage.

**Catastrophes**

"Uh, I guess I should have told you that I set up a preliminary surveillance camera, huh, Leo?" Don asked innocently, as they sat in the lab, looking at the replay of a small, dark, yet highly identifiable figure of Leo exploring around the general area of the first warehouse.

Leo watched, face burning with humiliation and embarrassment-- and just a touch of anger at his brother for setting up the spy-cam, as well as himself for once again thinking he could get one past his Sensei-- as he disappeared around to the back, out of sight.

Now he knew just how Splinter had known where he'd snuck off to.

Moments later the room burst into laughter as they saw Leo hightailing it back into camera shot, followed by a flowing blackness that Mikey recognized at once as the rats-- and something else-- something vague that the others didn't seem to notice as they were so busy having a chuckle at Leo's expense.

Leo took comfort in the fact that his youngest brother was not laughing. Unaware that Mikey was preoccupied with the images, Leo glanced in silent gratitude at his baby bro, wrapped in a blanket and looking all puffy-eyed with the cold that was slowly overtaking him.

Leo resolved right then and there to help him get better quickly. Poor Mikey! He, Leo, would take good care of his baby bro!

"What happened, Leo?" Mikey croaked out, eyes on the monitor. "Did you drop your flute?"

Hmmm... perhaps he wouldn't help Mike after all.

"So, I can not trust you even now," Splinter said, hand just now beginning to hurt from keeping his promise. The fifth smack had been on the shell, and he was now regretting not using his walking stick. He had not done so for fear of seriously injuring his son.

"I needed to see," he said, sighing, just a slight edge to his voice. "And besides, I found out which building they seem to be congregating in. Besides, it's my job as leader, right? To find out information, to make sure my family is safe? To look after my clan?"

"Do **not** try that argument with me!" Splinter replied, and his tone definitely had an edge to it. "We will discuss this--" he gestured towards the now blank screen-- "later-- alone!" This was directed towards an already grinning Donatello, who gulped and ducked his head. "Right now, we will eat supper. Come along."

They went to the table ("Okay, who put the pillow on my chair?" Leo groused, staring directly at Mikey, who looked too miserable to be subtly reminding Leo of his spanking. Raph and Don were both smirking; _one or the other_, Leo thought-- _probably both-- they'll get theirs_...), and Don made a place for Leatherhead by taking a chair away so he could sit on the floor at the end.

Honeycutt, naturally, could not eat, but Splinter pressed him to stay, to join them if the sight of their eating would not disturb him, or to wait wherever he chose to.

"We have much to discuss, and I am sure Donatello will bolt through his meal just to get back to work," Splinter said, guiding the robot to the table. "Your presence at supper may encourage him to slow down for once."

"Oh, I have long since forgotten what it was like to have to meet the needs to live," Honeycutt assured him. "I would be honored to stay. As a matter of fact, it would give me the perfect opportunity to test out this portable emergency recharger that your son has helped Leatherhead and me to develop. I've often worried about suddenly needing extra power. After all, this body, though made of metal, still needs powering up occasionally."

So, in a sense, they all were eating-- well, Michelangelo was not really eating so much as picking at his food, and drinking yet more herbal tea as well as orange juice. He felt miserable-- the cold seemed to be winning, and he was afraid that it would interfere with his plans.

Plus, his family needed him. That overriding thought kept occupying his mind, to the point that he was unaware for a few minutes that Splinter was speaking to him.

He realized that he was being watched by everyone. He hated times like this when he was caught out not paying attention (usually in the dojo). He steeled himself for the laughter, but no one looked as if they were angry or glad that he was in trouble.

He looked at Splinter, who was sitting expectantly, yet who had a very kind look on his face-- not the stern, forbidding Sensei "Michelangelo! Pay attention!" look that he was familiar with during training, but the caring, concerned Father "you need to go to bed, my son, you are ill" look that he was familiar with from his whole life.

"I'm okay!" he said, realizing what Splinter had said to him.

"No, you are not," Splinter replied, rising from the table to escort his son to bed. "You are going to bed now. I will fix you some medicine, and you will take it, then you will wrap up warmly and go to bed!"

"Mother hen alert," Raph, face down as he ate, whispered to Don. "OW! Sorry, Sensei."

He rubbed the back of his head where Splinter had popped him a good one as he was passing behind Raphael with Michelangelo, guiding the protesting turtle firmly.

"Donatello, when you get a chance, fill up the tea kettle and heat it for me," Splinter said. "Leatherhead, Professor Honeycutt, if you will excuse me for a moment..."

Up in Mikey's room, he stared at his desk where his list of preparations lay. He had only a few days until the memorial-- he just couldn't be sick.

"Bed," Splinter prodded him, as he moved a chair next to his son's loft of a bed and climbed up on it. Once Michelangelo was in it, he started tucking him in and feeling his forehead. "Hmmm... normally a cold does not involve a fever, but you seem to have one. You must have picked up an infection. I know just the thing..."

Jumping down, he left his son to his misery.

Man! Only a few more days! How can this be happening to me?

He lay on his side, staring glumly down towards his desk where, amidst the normal Mikey clutter of drawing pencils, perilously stacked comics, and several drawing tablets, he could see his precious outline for the memorial.

Only a few more days...

__

He was staring into those eyes again... it was cold and dark and silent, as if someone had turned off the sound. Victor was staring into his eyes in that strange, indescribable way-- Mikey strained to think of words that matched that stare, but his gift for descriptive language was as gone as Victor was...

Rats began to crawl around their feet. Again, no noise-- just the soft, furry feel of rats; the scratchity-scratch of their sharp little claws on his skin; the touch of their tails, winding around his ankles.

No sound, but the crowd of rats was growing, rising, one on top of another, like the tide coming in, a swirling mass of fur and claws and tails and whiskers now-- he could feel the whiskers brushing against him-- and all the time, Victor stood, staring that stare--

He was panicking. The rats were chest high, and Mikey felt as if he were being weighted down, pulled down, and if he were to sink below the level of the rats, he would be lost forever, lost forever like Victor--

His head was being forced down--

With a sudden gasp his eyes popped open, and he tried to sit up, but the blankets had been tucked in tightly by Splinter. It took him a minute to fight his way out of the blanket, and then he was able to sit up. Sensei was just coming in with a tray that contained a bowl of steaming something and a cup of what Mikey guessed was green tea.

"Thanks, Sensei," he managed to say in a barely shaky voice, as he was handed up the bowl of medicine. He downed it as quickly as he could; years of experience had taught him that it was best to get it over with, because Splinter would stand there until you were an old gray turtle until you drank it all down, and the taste when it was cold was infinitely worse than when it was hot. The green tea always tasted good after getting that stuff down!

"I will check on you later, my son," he said, gathering the items. "Do not worry. You will be well enough by the time the day of the memorial arrives."

He left the room, leaving on one small light.

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Victor is dead. But why did I dream about him and the rats? Is he the one controlling the rats? NO! Victor is dead! I know he is! Was he trying to warn me? Maybe that is it! Maybe I **did **have a vision! Maybe Victor was warning me about this guy who controls the rats, the way Master Yoshi warned Splinter about the Shredder's plans! But that shadow in the tape... and that night... the guy **was **pretty tall, tall like Victor... NO! Victor is dead! I know he is not the one controlling the rats! Victor was warning me, warning me in a vision! Yes, that is it! That **has** to be it...

Right?

Mikey glanced at the clock. Still early. Going on past experience, Splinter would check on him in about another hour, just to see if he was asleep. Then he would probably leave him alone the rest of the night, since it wasn't serious.

Perfect! He would take a little nap, and then he would pull a Leo-- he would go and scope out that warehouse himself! He would prove that it was NOT Victor! He would go and scope out the place, just like his brother had tried to do. Only he would be better at it than Leo... no going on the ground for him... he'd use the roofs... much safer... after all, he was Battle Nexus Champion... Leo was... zzzzzzzzzz...

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Food. The search had been productive tonight, and there was food, plenty of food. Even now a few dozen of the creatures were lazily gnawing on the leftover bones.

Warmth. The creatures that were his friends provided him with warmth. They milled around, snuggled together against the cold of the winter night. They usually were more active at this time, but bellies were full, and the weather was cold. A few played here and there. Most were content to just socialize quietly.

Companionship. Plenty of his closest companions grouped around him and on him in his nest. The favored few, they guarded their positions jealously.

They had once again defended this place from outsiders. No outsiders must come here-- or else they would never leave. Some had found this out the hard way.

Plenty of food tonight for his friends, he thought, watching some of the creatures, listening as the faint whisper of rat teeth scraped against a leg bone.

Well-- one had escaped, but that was no matter. Others had not.

Plenty of food tonight.

He lay in the nest, listening to the "conversations", watching the interactions, laughing inwardly at the babies as they played and chased and had a good time.

No outsiders must ever come here. And if they did... they must never leave!

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Mikey woke up, looked at the clock. It was well past midnight, and he was actually feeling better! Lightheaded, a bit warm, but definitely better!

Invincible, in fact! Battle Nexus Champion-invincible!

Carefully getting up, he geared up and headed out.

No one was up. Even Don's lab was dark. Just as well; his brainy brother would offer to go along, and Mikey didn't need help for this piddley mission! Better that Don get some rest!

Opening the door, he headed out without a care.

Damn! The tunnels were freezing! He should have put on the jacket at least. But as he went, he began to feel warmer; yes, definitely warmer, and alive! Nothing like a mission to stir the blood! He needed to do this more often!

He made his way quickly to the exit he and Leatherhead had used before-- but detoured at the last minute to come out a bit farther away from the intended targets. He wanted to reach the roof quickly and unseen.

Splashing his unprotected feet through the icy water, he shivered his way up to the top of the empty warehouse where they'd been the other night. Raph's snowturtle was the lone shape on the roof. Pausing in his quest, he studied this work of art by his brother-- he certainly had a talent that many would not realize.

As Mikey gazed at the smiling, happy snowturtle, he thought he recognized his brother's face in it-- and laughed aloud. A self-portrait? Had Raph made a self-portrait? But how unrealistic! Really, Raph should come to him for lessons in art.

With a wicked grin, Mikey went up to the snow sculpture and, taking a few minutes and some creative license, made the face look angry.

"There! That is more realistic!"

Then, with his trusty Swiss army knife, he carved a rude comment into the snowturtle's chest. Standing back to admire his handiwork, he indulged himself in a laugh at the expense of Raph. Too bad the hothead wasn't here to see it.

__

Focus, Mikey! Business to take care of...

Mikey went to the edge, scanned the scene with the ever-present goggles. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...

Mikey suddenly shook his head... _what is wrong with me? Why would I think that?_

Then he heard the echo of a laugh, and froze-- was it his imagination?

Again, faintly, the echo of laughter--

Mikey trained his goggles on the warehouse that Leo had indicated was the one where the rats were entering. He could see nothing-- big surprise!

Down to the ground, quick run (though why did his legs feel like lead all of a sudden?), a scramble up to the next roof-- stopping to close his eyes as the world suddenly decided to spin for a moment-- then on to the edge closest to the next building.

This one was close enough that he could jump to the other roof. Piece of cake... mmmm... cake... Chocolate was his favorite, but they hadn't had any in such a long time... running leap, and he landed hard, staggering. He lost his balance and fell flat on his plastron into the snow... the soft, warm, comforting snow... like sleeping in a cloud...

...skittering...

Mikey opened his eyes with great difficulty. What a strange word, skittering...

Then he realized that it was perfect for describing the noise he was hearing.

He struggled to his hands and knees in the snow, but his body felt as heavy as-- well, as Leo's cooking!

He made it to his feet, and began to realize that this was probably not a good idea... he was chilled, and his head was aching fiercely. His teeth chattered, and his feet were numb.

__

Why am I here? Why am I...

The moon and his thought was blocked by the dark shadow of a very tall, very menacing person. Mikey's eyes, straining against the pain in his head, tried to make out the features of this being. He stood at the far end of the roof, simply staring at Mikey. The moonlight illuminated him from behind, preventing the Turtle from getting a clear view of his face.

He pulled his 'chuks, fumbling them with numbed fingers.

"Dude," he said weakly. "I gotta warn you-- I'm the Battle Nexus Champion. You don't stand a chance!"

The floor-- or rather, the roof-- tipped suddenly under Mikey's feet, and he found himself falling forward again. Yet strangely, though everything was moving, the mysterious figure stood perfectly still. He was unaffected by the actions of the willful roof of the warehouse.

Mikey looked up, struggling against something that was trying to force him to take a nap-- and looked into the eyes of the being--

"Victor?"

And then things got very swimmy indeed before they vanished altogether...


	13. Chapter 13

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Ah... TMNT belong to Mirage... blahblahblah... Thanks to Kya and Terran... they know why.

**Calamity**

Don woke up sometime after midnight. He had something nagging at his subconscious, but for the life of him he couldn't figure it out. Perhaps something he'd been working on, or that tape of Leo getting his tail in trouble with Splinter...

With a sigh, he dropped to the floor from his top bunk (he had always liked sleeping up high like that-- made him feel "bigger") and padded quietly out and downstairs, through the living area and into his "lab".

As he tinkered around with various items, hoping that whatever it was that was niggling at his brain would reveal itself more clearly, he wondered if there were any coffee left in the pot? Shouldn't take too long to heat it up, and if worst came to worst he could always make some more.

Glancing up at the monitors that displayed all the activity from the various security cameras he had rigged up everywhere, something caught his eye.

"Oh, Man! Didn't he learn his lesson earlier when Splinter spanked his ass?" Don chuckled in gleeful disbelief! There was a turtle-shape on the ground again-- only this time it was climbing up to the roof of the next building.

Don fine-tuned the controls, hoping for a better shot-- and he got it-- along with a shock. On the roof, in the moonlight, Don's camera got a more detailed picture of the turtle in question.

"Damn!"

Quickly he was out of the lab, knocking on Splinter's door, heedless of the hour.

"Master Splinter! Master Splinter, come quick! Mikey has taken off for that warehouse!"

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Ten minutes later they were racing through the tunnels, well-equipped. Splinter was leading the way.

"I really need to implant tracking devices under all our skins," Don was saying for the tenth time. Normally, they would track each other through their shell cells, but Mikey's had been left in his room. Don had dreamed of micro chipping them like they did for pets, but the others had vehemently refused.

"What the hell possessed him to do such a thing?" Raph was wondering, angry that his baby brother was out like this. "He better be all right, 'cause I need to kill him!"

"I think Splinter gets first shot at him," Leo replied to Raph in a very low voice. Right now he was concerned about Mikey. Later, he knew that he was so going to enjoy watching someone else catch parental wrath for a change. Too bad it wasn't Don.

"I do not believe your brother is in his right mind," Splinter worried. "When I checked on him earlier, his fever seemed to be rising. We must find him before he does something stupid!"

"You mean like going out in this cold at three am with no protection to scope out a warehouse where hundreds of rats may be?" Leo couldn't help saying, as they exited the pipe and headed for the first warehouse. "I think it's a little late for that, Sensei!"

Splinter ignored Leonardo-- for the moment. He was only focusing on his youngest, who was an excellent warrior, like the other three-- but who was also not acting rational!

"Raph, you and Don take the roof," Leo's natural orders cut through Splinter's worried thoughts for his son. "Master Splinter and I will cover the sides! Don't do anything stupid!"

"You, too, Splinter Junior!" Raph happily replied, as he and Don scaled the side of the warehouse.

"Together, or separate?" Leo asked his master, motioning to which side (or both) they should take.

"I will take the waterfront side," Splinter decided. "You take street."

The two split up and quickly made their long way to their destinations.

In the moonlight, Splinter could see in the heavily trampled snow the vague footprints of Leonardo's earlier visit, overrun with the many paw prints of rats-- and the outline here and there of a large human foot, booted crudely. Sniffing the air, he could detect the scent of many rats, even over the stink of the river's many pollutants. Cautiously yet quickly he made his way past this first warehouse, his eyes, nose, and ears tuned to the one that was his objective.

The rat scent grew stronger; Splinter had never smelled this many of his kind together, not even when he was still a "normal" rat himself. The closer he drew to the building in question, the more he realized that he was sensing more than the presence of such a large number of fellow rodents; he was feeling-- something-- touching his thoughts.

For a brief second he hesitated; for a brief second he felt as if something were pulling him forward, and his natural instinct was to hold back.

He shook it off and continued forward, sticking to the shadows, sniffing as he went.

On Leo's side, the snow showed something gruesome-- blood. The panicked footprints of several human shoes, nearly obliterated by the multitude of rat paw prints were in the moonlight stained dark with the blood of someone.

"Heads up, guys!" Leo called into his shell cell headset. "I think someone got killed here tonight!"

"Can't be Mikey!" came Raph's growl into his ear. "His prints are all over up here. Looks like he leapt to the next building."

"Wait for us," Leo said, as he finally reached the end of the building. He was more on the moonlight side than Splinter; there were few shadows for him to take refuge in. Slipping the tech-goggles on, he could see that the tracks headed straight for a small door just to the left of a larger one that shielded a loading dock.

Leo saw the drag marks-- and a set of large human prints, roughly shod, leading the way. The entire thing made Leo think of a large, bloody slab of meat being dragged through the snow. It was stomach-churning enough, but the presence of the rat paw prints following all around, weaving in and out, circling, running-- and always beside or behind the set of human prints lent a horror-movie quality to the entire thing.

Splinter, too, was aware of the blood-- he did not need the special technology of his son to alert him to the fact that death hung in the air. The only thing that kept his heart from bursting in anxiety was that the scent of Michelangelo was not mingled with the rest.

"We're jumping over," Don advised Leo, and a moment later both father and brother saw the two on top effortlessly make the leap to the other roof.

"Damn! He was here and taken!" Raph nearly shouted-- Leo and Splinter both had to pull their headsets off quickly to save their eardrums. "The place is littered with prints-- you can tell he was dragged--"

"Any blood?" Leo, already running and beginning his climb, cut off his brother.

"No, but there are a ton of rat tracks up here," Don's grim voice relieved them even as it created more fear.

Now Splinter was making the climb as well, and very nearly beat Leonardo to the top. They quickly spotted Donatello and Raphael. The latter was already following the trail to a hole in the roof that used to probably be some sort of skylight.

"Look," Don said, finding one of Mikey's 'chuks lying trampled into the snow. Splinter took it from his son with a gentle yet determined movement, tucking it into some inner space of his robe.

In the moonlight the two Turtles recognized that special hard glint in Splinter's eyes, the one that warned any and all not to come between him and his offspring. Some sort of instinct from Nature, some type of primal reflex-- some special "parental gene"-- had kicked in, and Splinter would avenge himself on any who hurt his children.

"Here!" the whispered call of Raphael cut through the stillness as if he had bellowed at the top of his lungs. Quickly they joined him at the makeshift entrance. "Looks like the guy has made himself quite a home in here," he continued, gesturing down.

Don whistled silently. The "stairs" looked like some monster version of the type used to help passengers board airplanes, yet they had a kind of cobbled together, homemade feel to them. They ended in an office that had been gutted long ago, yet still held some of the old equipment left behind as useless even as scrap.

Splinter sniffed; the human's scent was strangely familiar. The rat scent was overpowering, but Splinter could detect this human-- and his son!

With hand gestures, he directed them. As one, they nodded; no questions or clarification was needed. Splinter first, then Raphael. Leo sent Don in next, while he kept a lookout for spies-- after all, that guy had somehow known Mikey was up here-- who was to say that their presence wasn't already being monitored?

At a nod from Splinter, Donatello carefully moved out of the room, quickly scanning to the right and the left. More offices, but not many-- none had doors left, and from what he could see, all were empty of even rats. Motioning the all-clear, the other three joined him, low and quiet and ready.

Once again, Splinter sniffed the air-- once again, something strange was nagging at him, almost pulling him-- calling to him--

With a determined growl, he shook himself and focused on Michelangelo; he almost looked as if he were meditating. Technological tracking devices were nice, but nothing compared to the instinctual tracking talents of a parent.

"Down below, to the right-- that small room," Splinter barely whispered, as they stared over a railing to the bottom-- a bottom that literally moved-- it was hard to realize that rats covered that floor. How would they reach the "room" in question?

As they studied the situation, Don suddenly smiled.

"Nothing like a panicky diversion!" he said, pulling several emergency flares from his bag of tricks. They were the type used to warn motorists of an accident ahead, but to rats they would be startling to say the least!

Each armed with a few of the flares, they moved out to strategic places, awaiting the signal.

Splinter made sure that he was closest to the room where he was convinced his son was being kept.

That pull again! That pull was stronger here! A call to his former nature; a song that only his previous life seemed to hear clearly-- and it was interfering with his need to find his son!

...hunger... anger... kill... eat... hunger...

Splinter, without a thought except for Michelangelo, activated his flares with a sudden twist and a toss, and at the same moment, the others released theirs.

Panic! Splinter suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to run, to flee, to get out of here as soon as possible-- and belatedly it occurred to him that he was picking up on the "thoughts" of the literally hundreds of rats that were screaming in fear as they tried to escape this previously safe haven.

In the confusion, Splinter saw the man! He had come tearing out of the room, screaming in pain, holding his head-- and his anguish seemed to add to Splinter's own desires to run, to escape, to hide from this nightmare!

With a determined battle cry, he leapt from above, kicking this human as hard as he could, sending him sprawling into the wildly moving mass of rats that covered the floor! But instead of getting up to face this enemy, this man, still screaming in pain, still acting as if he'd been mortally wounded, blindly fled from the building.

Without a backward glance at his other sons who were fighting their way through dozens of maddened rats, he quickly entered the room that the human had left-- and found Michelangelo sagging against some ropes that had firmly tied him to a wall.

"My son!" he could not help yelling, as he raced to him, trying to support him even as he tried to free him.

Michelangelo's eyes, swollen from fever and illness, managed to open for a moment, to focus on his father.

"Hey! Guess what? Victor is alive!"

And then he passed out.

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The rats were tasting his feet.

That is the thought that woke him up... and he'd found it to be partly true! There were dozens of rats on the floor, sniffing and licking and running under and otherwise milling about under his feet.

He was tied to the wall, and hanging slightly above the floor. He had no idea how or why or when or where or anything except this had to be a nightmare brought on by yet another attempt by Leo to prove that he COULD cook, just give him a chance, honest!

Mikey's fevered eyes looked at the scene in a detached sort of way at first-- until something bit his toe!

"OW! Damn! That hurt!" he had bellowed-- and then the MAN had shown himself, and Mikey couldn't articulate anything intelligible for a few minutes.

The man was tall, and oddly built, as if incomplete. He'd wrapped himself (or someone had wrapped him) in what looked like winding bandages here and there-- a mini-mummy, Mikey's irreverent humor flashed out for a tiny second as he looked at this being.

He had stepped closer as Mikey laughed-- and Mikey froze.

"Victor?" he had said, as if he could not believe his eyes. "Victor? You're-- you're-- ALIVE? Dude! OH, man! I thought you were dead! I held you in my arms! You ARE alive! Victor! It's me! It's MIKEY!"

The being, about to provide his friends with a fresh corpse, suddenly stopped in his tracks at the first mention of that name.

Victor.

Victor-- the name of the worst monster in the book.

Victor.

PAIN! PAINPAINPAINPAIN!

The being, to Mikey's shock, grabbed his own head, screaming, clutching, writhing, bending over as if wishing to curl up in a protective ball-- and then had fled the room.

That scream hung in the air, soon to be multiplied by the multitude of rat voices as panic swept the warehouse!

Then Father was there! Father was hugging him, supporting him, trying to free him.

Mikey grinned-- and now the dream will end, and he will wake up... wake up, Mikey! Time to wake up... wake...

... up...

His eyes protested his brain's desire to see where they were.

**Brain: We have to know what the hell is going on.**

**Eyes: Dude, you don't remember what scary shit we looked at last time we were open!**

**Brain: How can you talk about our father like that?**

With that, Mikey opened his eyes to find Splinter looking at him.

"Hey, Dad," he mumbled, getting ready to close his eyes again. After a brief moment, they flew open, and he tried to bolt upright!

"Victor! Victor is alive! I saw him!"


	14. Chapter 14

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Thanks for reading and reviewing. Thanks for your support. Thanks for everything!

TMNT are the property of Mirage. I own no property at the moment, but I do own Baker.

**Cautions**

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It had spoken to him; called him a -- a name that he dared not recall!

It had looked-- familiar-- sounded familiar-- he remembered a book-- a book about a monster--

PAIN! The excruciating PAIN was returning!

Focus on the creatures! Focus on the friends around now-- focus on the need for shelter.

The pain that had nearly blinded him had finally subsided enough for him to realize that their stronghold had been compromised. Going back in during the hours before sunrise, he had found the bodies of many of his friends, along with the remains of these burning things... without regard he stepped upon them to extinguish them. The coverings on his feet helped protect them, but it would not have mattered to him if he had stepped upon them with nothing on. The pain would be nothing in comparison to the PAIN of memory.

His closest friends stayed, searching among the bodies for those familiar to them. Then they scurried around his feet, as if awaiting his decision.

He turned and walked out of here. They would need a new place to live. He would find them a new place before nightfall.

And if the strangers from earlier found him again-- he would not allow them to live.

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Mikey's illness kept him bedridden and babbling for several days. He would seem to be fine, and rational, and then the fever would spike up and he would insist that Victor had been in the warehouse; that Victor was controlling the rats; that Victor was alive!

"I'm telling you, Don! I saw him!" he insisted the third night after they'd brought him home. His eyes were bright and shiny with fever, and he couldn't seem to lay still, he was so restless.

Splinter had gone with Leonardo to April's for more supplies ("Sensei! Really, I can--" Leonardo had started, but the fiery look in Splinter's eye alerted him to the fact that he had better not risk another humiliating spanking), and Raph was busy in the kitchen making a mess in his attempt to fix something special for Mikey to hopefully eat. He'd not been taking in enough nourishment, and that worried Raph to no end.

"Mikey, we've been over this," Don patiently tried again to convince him of his hallucination. "Victor is dead. You only thought it was Victor because--"

"No! No, Don, I'm not crazy and I'm not stupid!" he vehemently insisted. "I know what you and Sensei keep telling me, but I also know what I saw! It was Victor! Only he looked a bit different, but then, he probably would... I mean... that kind of injury... and when I called him 'Victor', he got all strange-looking, and started yelling and holding his head..."

Mikey's voice trailed off into uncertainty, and he stared past Don at something that only he could see, something in his memory of that night.

Don sighed, and got Mike to drink some water.

"Mikey," he said carefully. "The device that Bishop put into Victor's brain would have--"

"Don! I know what I saw!"

"Hey, bro! Calm down," Raph's unusually mild voice chided Mikey as he came into the room with a steaming bowl of "look what I got for you! Chicken noodle soup! I made it myself! And no, Don," he quickly cut off the smart remark that he knew was coming from his brainy brother, "I don't mean that I opened the can without help! This is your recipe, Mikey!"

Mikey sniffed it suspiciously as Don made an incredulous face.

"Are you out of your mind? Mikey's recipe calls for cayenne pepper and Tabasco sauce!"

"It clears out your cold in a damn hurry," Raph pointed out.

"It clears out a lot of stuff in a damn hurry," Don retorted. "Or have you forgotten what it's like to have fiery hot diarrhea?"

"That was a fluke," Raph shrugged. "Come on, Mikey! Eat some of this while its good and hot.

Mike took a tentative spoonful. With the critical eye of a master chef, he examined what was in the spoon, sniffing again. He blew on it, and carefully sipped a bit of the broth into his mouth, his tongue swishing it much the way the most skilled taster examines for some prize a really fine bottle of wine. Swallowing, he went ahead and ate some of the soup to Raph's delight.

He didn't eat much, but it seemed to help. His fever was beginning to recede again, and his eyes didn't look as-- irrational-- as before.

"Thanks, Raph," he finally said, too tired to eat any more. He'd not made much of a dent in the contents, and had kept to the broth more than the extra wide noodles and lovely chunks of chicken, but he'd eaten enough to calm his mind. As he settled back in bed, he seemed more focused on reality.

Don tried once more.

"Mikey," he said carefully. "That guy you saw..."

Mikey sighed deeply.

"Don-- drop it. I know what you keep saying. I know what I thought I saw. Just-- just leave it at that," he said, closing his eyes. "Victor is dead; but that guy looked like Victor. And I'm too tired to argue."

So Don dropped it. For now.

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"The place is deserted now," Leonardo was reporting to Splinter the fifth night since bringing Mikey back. He, Raph and Don had gone with Leatherhead and the robotic Professor Honeycutt several times since that night, to set up surveillance, but after a few days they realized that it was a futile exercise. The five of them toured the warehouse earlier that night, and no trace of the rats or their human commander could be found.

"Even the corpses of the ones we'd killed were gone," Leo continued. "The only thing we found were some human remains. Don placed an anonymous call to the police to alert them to the fact, but there's not much I think they'll be able to do. This guy and the rats have gone to ground somewhere else."

Splinter sighed. He had not gotten that strange "calling" sensation out of his mind since that night. Something about that experience haunted his dreams, interrupted his usual meditations.

Something about that night-- that man-- was familiar to Splinter, but he had not been able to figure it out just yet.

"Perhaps we are safe for the moment in not knowing where he has gone," he said, thinking of Michelangelo. He was finally recovering from this illness, but though he insisted that they were right, that he had probably hallucinated that this guy was Victor, Splinter knew his son. Michelangelo would, if the man was still in that warehouse, be tempted to once again find out if it were true or not-- merely to convince himself.

"Perhaps," Leatherhead said, as they rose to depart for home. "But I am sure we will hear of this being again."

The next morning, Mikey was almost ready to be released from bed. Though the fever was finished, he was still weak from lack of appetite. The only thing he'd seemed interested in eating was the soup that Raph had made for him from his own recipe. They indulged him in this limited meal, however. Anything to get him up and on his feet again. He'd reached that stage in his recovery where he'd become annoying to the point of losing all sympathy from his loving brothers.

"So, there I was, hanging from that wall with literally dozens of rats crawling around and under and over my poor little tootsies!" he was relating to April, who had come to visit her "poor Mikey" with flowers and candy, as well as take her ongoing lessons with Splinter.

"My goodness!" April shivered involuntarily. "Don't get me wrong, Master Splinter, no offense, but I would totally have freaked seeing that many rats running around like that."

"Believe me, my daughter, when I say that it was a very disturbing sight to myself as well," he replied without going into detail. "Now, let us go begin your lesson."

As they left the room, the others noticed that Don had a strange look on his face.

"You say they were swarming around you, right?" he questioned Mikey, who was examining the candy, looking for a choice piece to begin with.

"Yeah! I remember them crawling all over me on the roof," he said, gleefully popping a caramel into his mouth. He just loved the way the chewy treat slowly squished and almost stuck to his teeth as he chewed vigorously. "I was being dragged, and I kind of woke up, and I remember feeling their little claws on my legs! Talk about creepy!"

And he shivered at the memory, while searching for yet another delicious piece of candy to rebuild his strength with.

Don looked concerned. He'd examined Mikey when they'd gotten him home, but hadn't noticed anything unusual-- still, that illness was more than a normal cold-- that was some infection, and Mikey still wasn't ready to get out of bed for more than a few hours at a time. He fixed his baby brother with a serious stare.

"You weren't bit, were you?"

Mikey tried to remember. He hurt so much as it was with this illness that it was hard to recall...

"Yea, I think on my toe," he smiled, pulling one foot out from under the blanket and wiggling the digit in question under Don's nose. "Are you gonna kiss it and make it all better?"

Don just shook his head and disappeared from the room.

Raph exchanged looks with Leo.

"Oh-oh!" he said, looking a bit concerned. "Rabies! What if them rats had rabies?"

Leo frowned, looked quickly at Mike-- who was suddenly frozen against the pillow, his foot still sticking up in the air.

"Ra-rabies?" Mikey gulped, staring hard at the toe, trying to see if there were any strange signs that would indicate that he might be in danger. The candy box slid to the floor, where it miraculously did not spill its contents; but Mikey could have cared less.

"Yeah," Leo said to Raph in a worried tone. "Damn! I hope Don has something in the infirmary that can deal with it. If it's not too late, that is. After all, it's been over five days..."

"Rabies vaccine isn't something that even Brainac could get hold of," Raph shook his head, eyes scared. "And if he did... well, it's like you said... already been five days."

And they both looked at Mikey as if studying him for some sort of sign.

"I remember seeing on that one documentary that it's like what, six shots?"

"SIX SHOTS?"

"Calm down, Mikey!" Raph soothed, moving to the bed and attempting to comfort his baby brother. "You don't need to worry about any old shots! Don probably doesn't have the stuff anyway."

Now Mikey was getting ready to panic-- he just couldn't make up his mind which bit of news to panic over.

"Yeah, I mean, just think," Leo said, coming closer. "It's one shot in or near the wound"-- here Mikey grabbed his foot protectively, covering his toe with both hands as if trying to keep it from hearing this horror story-- "and five follow up shots during a twenty-eight day period."

Raph shook his head, pity welling out of his eyes as he looked at his brother.

"No need to worry 'bout it, though," Raph said sadly. "You know Don ain't got that kind of stuff in his magic infirmary." He suddenly looked hopeful, and turned to Leo. "Hey! He has penicillin! That might help! I mean, it helped with his illness! Maybe it... maybe it already..."

His voice faltered, faded to nothing. He looked as if he were about to cry, yet was trying to keep it together for the sake of his brother.

"I-- I mean," his voice cracked, as he struggled to hold onto his composure, "it HAS to help! Right Leo? We aren't gonna lose---"

"SENSEI!" Mikey screamed, diving under the covers and wondering if the memorial that he had planned for Victor would now be for him.

"Be strong, Raph," Leo, too, sounded teary to Mikey as he cowered under the blanket. "Be strong-- for Mikey!"

Then Mikey heard what sounded like muffled sobs coming from his brothers. NO! This can't be happening to him! This can't be happening!

He heard Don reenter the room.

"Mikey, I need to-- what? What's so funny? Why are you guys laughing like that?"

Laughing? LAUGHING?

Mikey pulled his head from under the blanket to see tears on his brothers' faces all right-- tears of uncontrollable mirth!

LAUGHING?

"So--- not--- funny!" he pouted, slouching down in the bed and turning his back on his heartless brothers.

"Jeeze, Mikey, where'd your sense of humor go?" Raph laughed as Don sat on the bed, pulling the cover off of his brother's feet. But Mikey would not respond. He'd been so sick, and scared, and had almost become rat-chow, and they were making jokes about rabies.

"Mikey, let me look at that bite closer," Don, also ignoring his two still-laughing brothers, tried to get Mikey to cooperate, but he was unwilling for Don to touch it.

"No! You want to stick an old rabies shot into it, and it's sore enough," he huffed into his pillow, trying to will them to go away.

"Rabies? Mikey, only mammals can get rabies," Don said, using an old trick Master Splinter taught him. He tickled Mikey behind the knee, and as soon as the foot shot out in reaction, Don had caught it in a viselike grip.

"Don!" Mikey, turning over again, protested-- and then paused. "Hey! We're not mammals, are we?"

"Nope. Only mammals get rabies," Don soothed him as he started wiping down the now noticeable red mark on the bottom of Mikey's toe with an antiseptic pad. "Hmmm... some infection, but nothing serious I'm sure. Yeah, and the other thing is, rats rarely if ever get rabies as well. In fact, there is no documented case of rabies from rat bites in the United States."

Mikey sat up a bit more, relief replacing his anger at his brothers' heartless and cruel joke.

"So that means nothing is wrong!" he grinned.

"Well-- there are other things that an untended rat bite could cause," Don said, as he got out the iodine and a Band-Aid. "But that penicillin I gave you during your illness probably will take care of it. Still--"

And before Mikey could react, Don had carefully applied the burning red medicine to the still raw spot and quickly slapped a Band-Aid over it.

"Damn it, Don!" Mikey yelled, trying to blow on his poor toe without removing the Band-Aid. "I thought you said--"

Now it was Don's turn to laugh.

"Better safe than sorry," he said through his chuckling. "And I don't care how sick you are, don't you ever do such a stupid dumb ass thing again!"

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They were getting closer. Baker had had to change locations too many times in the past five days to not realize that they were closing in on him. He'd been unable to contact his one and only friend, and his funds were running low. He'd not been able to return to the mission where he sometimes volunteered; the place was being watched by too many people.

The weather was still cold, but since the snow, it had not been as bone-chillingly freezing as it had been; still, finding a warm place to sleep was becoming impossible.

He roamed further away from "safe" areas. His main goal at the moment was to try to lose these three sets of people looking for him! The one group had pulled back a bit, while this rumored group of ninja (NINJA! For a moment he felt as if he'd been dropped into a really bad martial arts film!) had picked up the pace.

And knowing that Bishop's organization was still searching for him after all this time made going to the authorities almost a death sentence. They would get him there in no time, and nothing he could say would convince the police to not turn him over to the "feds", as they would represent themselves.

The warehouses by the water were a dangerous hiding place, but tonight he was tired and desperate. He'd noticed it earlier on the news-- he'd been hanging out in an appliance shop and had seen the report of the discovery of skeletal remains in an abandoned building-- the police were baffled, the deceased had been identified through an id found close by to be some gang member-- his fellow gang members, rounded up as suspects in his death, wouldn't talk except to spin some horror story about a monster who controlled rats-- and an unnamed source in the coronor's office backed up part of the gang members' story; the dead person had been pretty much eaten by rats.

Baker scouted the place out. The police tape was still in place, and though no one was around any more to guard the scene, he had noticed that the patrol cars made frequent passes, keeping an eye on it as it were.

He was able to enter the building easily. The eeriness of the place was strong, but his fear of being found was stronger. Here, he reasoned, he would have at least one night's sleep without having to worry if anyone was looking for him. No one would think to search this place, espeically as the police still seemed interested in it.

Swallowing down the knowledge of what had apparently taken place in here, he searched for a way to the upper level; found one, and after a brief and careful examination, chose an empty office that still had an old, battered couch in it as well as a door that would close (though not lock).

He stared at the dust-covered, stained couch. It would not be comfortable, but it would be off of the floor. Wedging the door shut with bits of debris and then blocking it with the empty desk that no one had wanted, he prepared to finally get some rest. He noted that there was a window here-- as much as he hated the thought of having to leap for his life, at least he had a way out.

He lay down on the filthy couch, bundled up in his coat, and fell asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

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Oh, I owe Terran/Splinter a big OOPS apology! I technically stole Mikey's foot from her! Especially that whole wiggling his toes part! I am ashamed that I didn't think of it at the time-- ack! Mea Culpa, Terran! I didn't mean to do it-- Mikey MADE me! OH, and THANKS MACHIAS BANSHEE for the Japanese I get to use at the end! You are da bomb!

TMNT are the property of Mirage now and forever amen.

**Confrontations**

They stood in the dojo, the first complete training session since Mikey was allowed out of bed. Meditation was over-- there only remained one piece of business to be taken care of, and Leo was looking forward to it with almost Raph-like excitement.

"Jeeze, Leo!" Raph whispered, noticing the naked glee on his oldest brother's face. "You're acting like a kid! Sensei sees that look, and you'll be joining Mikey in his punishment!"

Leo immediately adjusted his features-- but he couldn't keep the childish delight out of his eyes.

For months upon months Splinter had been riding him and Raph, dealing out punishment after punishment for any attempt to get back into what Leo considered his "old routine". No matter how justified Splinter felt he was in doing so, it had not been fair. He and Raph had apologized until they were blue in the face, but Splinter still treated them as if they were just out of the egg.

Now it was someone else's turn, and Leo, usually the most protective, the most willing to take the blame and spare his brothers-- the most mature-- was almost clapping his hands in glee.

Mikey stood out from the line in front of Master Splinter, respectful, submissive, and prepared for his punishment. Indeed, he was so unMikeylike, it was scary.

Raph, glancing from the oldest to the youngest, almost got the impression that they had somehow switched personalities. Then he shook off the feeling, and turned his attention to Splinter.

"Michelangelo," he said, stern but not angry. "You stand here because I must exact punishment on you for what you did."

"Hai, Sensei. I understand."

"You were well-aware of my order to not enter that place at all," Splinter continued, eyes only on his youngest. "I was adamant that none of you venture anywhere near that place."

"Hai, Sensei."

"Granted, you were under the influence of a high fever," Splinter continued. "These things can cloud your judgment. However, I do believe that you formed this decision before it rose as high as it did."

"Hai, Sensei," Michelangelo confirmed. "I don't remember too much about that whole thing, but I think I remember that after you put me to bed, I sort of had what I thought was a vision-- a vision that Victor was trying to warn me about that rat guy, and I thought 'hey, why not check it out?' I am sorry." And he bowed, ready for his punishment.

Splinter absently smacked his walking stick in his hand, looking at this honest and penitent turtle.

"Very well," Splinter said, and three sets of eyes fixed themselves on their youngest brother. Two sets were impressed with Mikey's mature attitude; one set was seriously pleased at what was about to come. "You will do ten flips as your punishment. The rest of you are dismissed."

"That's **it**?"

All eyes turned to Leonardo, who looked at his father with a mixture of shock at his own disrespectful outburst, and a growing disbelief at the "punishment" dealt out to Mikey. He knew he should be quiet! His rational mind kept saying Shut UP, chucklehead! Shut UP!

His inner child kept yelling NO FAIR NO FAIR NO FAIR!

"That's **it**? **Ten** **flips**?"

Splinter's ears slightly flatten even as he remained in control of his temper at this uncharacteristic display by his eldest.

"You have something to say in defense of your brother, perhaps?" he asked, a slight edge in his voice almost daring Leonardo to presume too much.

Leo swallowed, hard, but there was no going back; not this time!

"Sensei, you specifically warned us that to go against your wishes was-- well, was worth a punishment more than ten flips!"

"I believe that I have acted rather fairly," Splinter said evenly. "I took into consideration the situation surrounding your brother's transgression. It was agreed by all of us that his fever had a hand in his irrational behavior. You, indeed, were the lead voice in this, were you not?"

Leo was not to be put off. True, once they'd gotten him out of that horror movie of a death trap and had gotten him home, nearly hypothermic on top of a raging fever, Leonardo had been the first to voice the assertion that Mikey had to have been completely out of his mind to get into that situation in the first place.

But still-- ten flips?

"Sensei," he argued. "Considering all of that, you may as well not punish him at all!"

Splinter seemed to think about this.

"Very well. I believe you have made a valid point," he replied, turning his gaze once again to Michelangelo. "Punishment is withdrawn. Your brother is correct; the entire situation can be forgiven as the act of someone who was, due to illness, not in control of his mind or actions. You are **all **dismissed."

Raph had such a hard time not laughing at the look on Leo's face. He could feel it building, growing stronger, welling up inside and determined to burst forth in all its glory. But Raph, utilizing all the inner strength of meditation that his Sensei has been drilling into him since they were old enough to start training, remained in control of himself.

But just barely. Leo stood there, frozen to the floor as if struck by some spell that had turned him to stone. And Raph desperately wished that he could have a picture-- no, a video of the entire exchange!

"Hey, uh, Donnie-- is there any popcorn left, or have you eaten it all?" Raph asked, as they headed into the living area, leaving Splinter standing there facing a confused and (increasingly) angry Leonardo.

They stood there silently for a few minutes as the others made themselves scarce-- even Don did not want to be caught in the line of any fire that might take place.

Splinter's gaze never wavered as he looked passively at Leonardo.

"Is there something you require, my son?" Splinter finally asked.

Leo debated with himself. He just didn't get it! Why was Splinter being like this? Why was Mikey off the hook? Why was Leo always the one in trouble? Why was Splinter acting like a-- like a--

"Nothing, Sensei," he sighed, defeated, bowing and leaving.

But Splinter knew that this was not over. He could feel the anger in Leonardo at what he perceived to be the blatantly unfair treatment of one son over the other.

"Keep thinking that, my son," he murmured softly, watching the retreating back of his eldest. "Keep thinking that. Perhaps you will find enlightenment in your anger. I know that I have."

He headed for the kitchen, where Donatello and Raphael were making yet another batch of popcorn.

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It was fenced off for a reason, but other than that, nothing had been done with this property for years and years. No one remembered why, only that it had been a foundry of some sort. Old brick smokestacks still stood; the buildings, too, were made of old red brick and other materials that lent it a quality of being out of place in this day and age.

Why it had not been destroyed by now and turned into more profitable investments, like high-priced, trendy condos, or some sort of upscale shopping mall, complete with more coffee places and bookshops than there would be customers for, was anyone's guess.

It could be that there was some historical element tied to the place; it could be that whoever owned this patch of land just did not wish to sell at the moment, perhaps holding out for more money that the land was worth.

At any rate, for an abandoned place, very few gangs or groups of hooky-playing youth dared to enter it-- especially lately.

The cold had played a part, and the belief that the place was haunted. No one (when hanging with his friends) would believe that latter part, professing that "I go dere alla time, dey ain't no reason to be scared!"

"Oh, yeah?" someone would invariably challenge, "den lets sees ya hop that fence and spend an hour in dere witout da resta us!"

Of course, the challenge would be accepted (reluctantly)-- and the lone person's imagination would so carry him away that the hour time limit was never met.

But a few nights ago, when one such a dare was being witnessed by the jeering crowd of teenage boys, that all changed. As the group stood outside the fence, cracking rude jokes and watching the official timekeeper ticking off the minutes, a scream ripped the darkness-- and everyone froze!

They had heard others scream, but not like this! This was not the scream of someone's imagination carrying them away-- this was a scream that tore the lining of the throat in its terror!

The group started aiming their few flashlights in the direction their friend had gone, straining their eyes and calling his name.

The scream came again, with a sobbing plea that choked off-- and then the scream again!

A few of the younger members of the group were starting to cry. One in particular had to be forcibly held back by some of the others-- that was his older brother in there! Let him go! He had to help his brother!

"Angelo!" he kept screaming over and over and over, struggling against the arms that held him back.

"Damn it, someone do something!" one of the others cried. But no one wanted to go-- they were too frightened--

Then into the light stumbled the boy in question, and there was such relief that they started to cheer-- and to jeer and tease--

And then they saw the rats!

Hundreds of rats were chasing the boy; some had launched themselves onto him, attaching themselves to him, tearing at his clothes, hair, flesh!

Now there were others screaming as well. A few of the older boys, now that they could see the problem, to their credit went to the rescue! With whatever they could grab as a weapon, they got over the fence and managed to reach their stumbling, bleeding, crying friend-- they swatted and swung and stomped and kicked--

And then the laugh rang out, causing all activity to stop! That laugh chilled all that heard it!

A sharp whistle sounded, and as quickly as they had come, the rats vanished into the darkness, somewhat reluctantly-- but the Master had called, and there was no disobeying him.

With what speed they could manage considering they were now carrying their injured and terrified friend, the guys got over the fence and dropped heavily to the ground. In the glow of the flashlights, the boy called "Angelo" looked as if he'd been mauled by dogs.

The little brother clung to this sibling, and the boys made their way as quickly as possible to his house, where his mother went into hysterics and his father had to manage getting them both to the hospital.

"Rats," was all he kept saying, for the rest of the night. "Rats. Rats. They wanted to eat me. **He** was going to feed me to the rats. Rats. Rats."

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"The authorities have searched the area in question, but no sign of the large colony of rodents that the boys claim attacked their friend could be found. In fact, the spokesman for the Department of Health said, quote, 'That is the cleanest place I have seen. There is not one trace that indicates the amount of any rat population that the boys witnessed.'

"Authorities, however, have advised area residents to be aware of any unusual rodent activity. Coming on the discovery nearly three weeks ago of the remains of--"

Click

Mikey watched the screens of the wall of televisions go black. He turned to see that Splinter had been the one to turn off the news, and he bit back the retort he was going to spout to whomever of his brothers had interrupted his viewing.

"My son, I wish to speak with you about your memorial plans," Splinter said, taking a seat on the couch next to Michelangelo.

Since his recovery, he had insisted that he was going ahead with his plans, that he knew that Victor was dead, and that he had imagined that he had seen him alive.

But he'd still been acting oddly. He put off rescheduling the event, citing that Don had to figure out the next good night when the tidal pull would meet his requirements. Then there was the reordering of the wreath. April had not made the florist happy when she'd had to cancel and reschedule the order, and that in turn had not made April happy-- she did not like being blamed by the fussy owner of the business, and she had had to agree to pay an "inconvenience fee" that she was sure was illegal, but her hands were tied-- no other florist would do what she wanted.

Leatherhead, a generally solitary being who walked about at night to think and relax, found himself running more and more into Michelangelo, who also seemed to be walking about at night-- though possibly not for the same reasons. Sometimes he would come upon the Turtle, sitting in the entrance to the pipe that opened out onto the river front where he had told the Crocodile his plans to honor Victor.

"My young friend, what are you doing here?" he inquired that first time, shortly after Mikey had recovered from his illness. Mike had not seemed surprised that the Crocodile was present-- though lost in thought, he was still aware of his surroundings.

"I couldn't sleep," he answered simply, staring out at the dimly seen river. And that was all he said, beyond the word "sure" when Leatherhead asked if he may join him. They had sat in silence for almost a quarter of an hour; then the Turtle had risen, said he had to get home now, and was L.H. coming or did he plan on staying?

"I, too, need to head back," the Crocodile responded, though he truly did not need to. But he was concerned with this behavior of his young friend, and thought that perhaps it would be best if he walked him at least part of the way home.

And, at his first opportunity, he told Splinter what Michelangelo was up to.

Splinter looked at his son, trying to discern what was going on in his mind.

"What about it, Father?" he asked, putting on his usual Mikey face of puzzlement and innocence. "Everything's in order-- well, except the flowers and the tidal thingie, but other than that--"

"What day have you chosen?"

Mikey looked down; swallowed.

"Um... well, you know, what with all the trouble that--"

"Michelangelo," Splinter firmly yet kindly cut him off. "Donatello has provided you with five good dates. April needs a definite day or she will lose her money and you will have no wreath. And," he drew a breath, steeling himself, "Victor's spirit has waited long enough."

Mikey cringed visibly at this last sentence.

"It is not fair to ask him to wait any longer, my son," Splinter continued. "He needs to move on; to achieve peace. You set about doing this to honor his memory. But to me, this more than that; it is more than a symbolic releasing of the departed from this world."

"I understand, Father," Michelangelo said earnestly. "But-- well--" His shoulders sagged; a frustrated sigh escaped him. "I know what you all want. And what you all say. And what-- but Father! I just-- I just keep feeling that **maybe** I was right; maybe I DID see Victor! And I--"

He couldn't go on. He couldn't explain. He couldn't accept.

That was the problem, he realized. Even after all this time, he couldn't accept that Victor was dead.

Splinter saw the tears before Michelangelo was aware of them himself. He opened his arms to him has he had done countless times since becoming their father.

And Michelangelo responded as he and done countless times since they had become his sons.

"_Shizukesa aiko_," he soothed, rocking his son as if he were still little and afraid and needing fatherly comfort. "It will be all right. I promise you. It will be all right."


	16. Chapter 16

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Wow! The next chapter. I'm running out of words that start with C. I guess I should never have started that.

TMNT are Mirage's. Baker is mine. Unruly teenagers belong to whatever parent can be forced to accept the responsibility.

**Crankiness**

The _Sochin_.

He never could explain it, but this was his favorite kata.

As Leonardo performed the smooth, deliberate, controlled moves that went from something that looked like a slow-motion gesture of the arms-- only to erupt into a very quick and powerful kick or punch-- he forgot all of his grievances and problems and hurts.

Mostly.

Arms extend-- swing the left arm in an upward move to block, bring the right arm down to block-- hold-- move-- double punch turn--

kick-- pause-- move forward--

And with each punch and kick, the word UNFAIR repeats itself like some childish mantra.

swish-punch!- UNFAIR! I'm not a baby! Turn-- pause-- double punch! UNFAIR!

After a few minutes of this, he sighed. Grabbing a bokken, he began the _Kojo Gokui Goten_. He really needed a partner for this exercise, but at the moment he was alone in the dojo, so he went through the five katas as if he faced an "opponent". As with the Sochin, it was a favorite exercise-- and at first he was distracted from his attitude by the concentration needed to pretend that he faced someone else as he executed the moves: weapon held in both hands in front of him, pointing up at forty-five degree angle-- move down pointing to floor step forward-- swing up midway step forward-- extend above head, prepare for sweeping swing--

NO FAIR! The wooden blade sliced the air as if it were his worst enemy!

Raph stood nearby, unnoticed, watching his older brother, reading his emotions. He knew that Leo had been angry the day that Mikey had been let off the hook; he couldn't believe, however, that Mr. Perfect Son was still holding onto this grudge! That sound more like Raph!

As he observed his brother turning his katas into something more, he thought about what they both had been going through with Splinter.

Raph, surprisingly, had been more and more accepting of the limits. Possibly the fact that it was so damn cold out had some influence for the moment on his normally rebellious streak; the fact that Casey and April were very much together a lot any more was another possible factor.

"Lookin' kinda pissed, Leo," he said easily, as he walked to the weapons rack and picked up a bokken, then positioned himself in front of Leo. With a nod, he signaled to begin, and the two of them launched into the practice properly.

Silence for several minutes. Raph was no slouch with the swords, though whether through long years of habit or else true joy he preferred his defensive weapons-- the skill it took to use something that was basically for protection rather than aggressive combat-- to use it with deadly force-- that had appealed to something in Raphael, though he at first felt cheated when Splinter had chosen those weapons for him.

But he could, as the others could, fight with many weapons, and he did enjoy this kind of sparring with Leo sometimes. He never failed to surprise "sword-boy" at least once during a bout with the bokken or the katana.

Right now, it was just the katas of the _Kojo Gokui Goten_. Move, block, turn, step back, step forward, slow moves, fast moves, like a well-choreographed dance, the two of them kept at it, and Raph could see that Leo was finally concentrating on the actual exercise, not on his anger.

After a while, they both stopped. Leo looked a bit more relaxed.

"It's still not fair," he couldn't help saying, as he put both bokken back in the rack. "I mean, this is beyond ridiculous."

"I hear ya, but what are we gonna do?" Raphael asked, taking a few punches at the heavy bag as his way of winding down from the activity. "I mean, Splinter is going to do this. And until we can prove that he doesn't need to do this, he is going to keep doing this."

"Are you preaching tolerance?" Leo asked, incredulous. "Since when have you ever gone along with restrictions? You were just as eager as I was to escape; now you just seem to accept it!"

Raph shrugged between punches.

"I just figured that it wasn't worth putting Splinter through all that grief any more."

Leo stared at Raph as if he were mutating before his very eyes.

"Raph, don't you want to go visit Casey without him tagging along?"

"Sure," he replied, landing a particularly good kick on the bag with a "HA".

"So? Why haven't you tried to sneak out and hook up with him? You haven't tried anything like that in weeks." Leo, hands on hips, continued to stare in disbelief at his normally hotheaded brother.

"Well, like I said, I don't wanna stress Sensei anymore than I have been," he replied. "And 'sides, Casey is too 'wrapped up' in April-- literally. The last time I managed to sneak away to visit without Splinter, I walked in on 'em-- Ummmm-- **you **know."

"Eww! What happened?"

"Well, let's just say that from now on I'm not welcome there without calling first," Raph laughed. "I'll tell you this much, however-- they won't be doin' **that **in the kitchen again anytime soon."

"Oh, don't tell Mikey," Leo, momentarily distracted, tried to rid his imagination of what was hinted at. "You know how he is about the abuse of rooms dedicated to food."

"Shit, I don't know who was more shocked, them, me, or Sensei," Raph said, with a final punch at the bag.

Leo frowned.

"I thought you said--"

"Yeah, for the moment I had escaped. But Don, that wonderful brother of ours, had planted a tracking device on me. Splinter was entering through one window while I was entering the other-- we both got an unwanted eyeful."

Leo had a laugh at Splinter's expense as he followed Raph out of the dojo and into the kitchen. Once there, his initial dissatisfaction returned.

"How are we going to convince Splinter that he needs to stop worrying?" he asked, accepting a bottle of water from his brother. He studied the label rather than drinking, however. "I mean, we all agreed to kill ourselves on that space ship. And we took out Bishop. We've proven that we are not helpless. Yet..."

"Yet he had to save our sorry asses from the Foot," Raph reminded him. "And not a lot of Foot, I might add. You and me have whipped larger numbers then that. Now, I for one do NOT want to be in a position to have to have my Daddy fight my battles for me ever again. That's why I went and talked to him."

Leo looked up suddenly at Raph, who sat there calmly drinking a soda.

"Talked to him? Talked about what?"

"About behavin' myself until he thought I was ready to be set free once and for all," he responded. "And I intend on stickin' to it this time. You may not have noticed it, Leo-- hell, I didn't notice it until a bit ago-- but Splinter has been stressin' on this. During our talk he admitted that he was-- well, afraid for us. But he's workin' on it."

Raph finished his soda, stood up and tossed the can into the box for recycling, then looked at Leo as if he were the eldest brother offering advice to his younger sibling.

"But I realized that my obsession with actin' like a kid tryin' to break free only made his obsession of bein' the overprotective parent that much worse. So, I've been behavin' myself. And it's paid off."

And he headed towards the door-- alone.

"HEY!" Leo shouted, rushing from the kitchen to grab Raph by the arm. "Where the hell are you going? What do you mean it's paid off?"

"I'm going over to April's-- invited and expected," he grinned, grabbing a coat. "Splinter said I could start going out again as long as I told him were I was going. And I intend to keep lettin' him know until he has finally let go of this need to shadow me. Later, bro."

And he left his brother standing there, mouth agape-- with one more grievance against Splinter.

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He'd managed to stay in this warehouse undetected for many days now. In fact, things had seemed to let up enough for him to finally make much needed contact with his friend, who was able to make a very welcome drop of supplies and money at one of their safe spots. Thank God its security was not compromised! His greatest fear was to go to one of these spots only to be captured.

He still imagined that he was being followed, and was afraid that if he appeared to be too concerned with who was possibly watching him, he would draw unwanted attention to himself.

In the safety of his "home" he unpacked the welcome supplies of a sturdy flashlight with batteries, packets of energy bars for when he couldn't get food, and a few bottles of water-- this had been a nice gesture on his friend's part. He was able to get water in the warehouse-- the bathroom still worked, including the sink, but the water did taste rather "off".

And now with more money, he could blend into the line that formed at the daily visit of the "roach coach" that catered to those who were working at the few warehouses still in operation and have at least one "hot" meal a day, as well as buy something for the evening. Hardly fine dining at its best, but hey, food was food!

Knowing that they would be looking for him among the homeless still, he'd managed to get (also from his friend) a change of clothing that would help him to "blend in" even better with the workers. There were so many, that it would be easy to mix. He'd tried twice before, and had met no problems, no questions, no "hey, where do you work?" They were hungry, tired men, only concerned with getting something hot to eat and then get inside out of this cold and eat it before the break was over; there was no time for idle chitchat.

Yes, he thought, making himself comfortable on the couch with the flashlight and a recent copy of the Times; things were looking calm for the moment.

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"Mistress Karai," her assistant respectfully bowed. She motioned that he may enter, grateful for the interruption of this tedious paperwork! She doubted he would have any news, but as the days of dealing with legal matters as well as the "legitimate" business of running the memorial library turned into mind-numbing, boring weeks of endless meetings and files and forms and figures, she was growing increasingly restless and resentful-- HOW had her father put up with all of this-- this-- _bakabakashii_ paperwork?

"Mistress, we have news of this person called Dr. Baker," he said, bowing before her desk. "One of our operatives was fortunate enough to spot him picking up some supplies, and has followed him to the general area of his current location."

"The area?"

"Regretfully, there were many workers in the area, and our man was unlucky enough to lose him in the crowd, but he is positive that he must be staying close by. There are many empty buildings in this section. It is close to the river front--" Here, with her permission, he spread a map of the area. "There are many places that are still quite active during the day. The night, however, remains to be seen. What with the current state of the weather, it may be that a search would best be conducted during the late evening."

Karai studied the map. Why did this area seem familiar? Something nagged her mind; something she'd heard about on the news? No matter. This was their first lucky break in a while.

"The operative is to be commended," she said, and her assistant bowed in acknowledgment. "Have him and one other stake out the area. They are not to act until we are certain that he is indeed in one of these buildings. When they have definitely located him, we will move in and take him."

"Hai, Mistress Karai," he bowed again, starting to gather up the map; she, however, prevented him with a small gesture. She wished to study this herself for some few minutes. It was a relief to her mind to be doing something that required the kind of planning she was longing for-- the escape from the tedium of the "real world" that had been her unfortunate legacy.

"Once confirmation is made, notify me at once," she ordered, eyes still on this map. "I may wish to be there when we have him in our grasp."

"Hai, Mistress."

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Don was sitting in Splinter's chair, eyes on the door of his father. He had a happy, almost expectant look on his face as he continued to watch the door, as if something fascinating was about to emerge from that room.

Mikey, coming down from his room to watch a little television, noticed the attention that his brother was paying the door, and looked at this smartest brother in puzzlement.

"Dude, what's the interest in Splinter's room?" he asked, plopping down on the couch even as he reached for the remote and flipped on all the TVs at once.

With a swift movement, Don came out of Splinter's chair and hit the "mute" button of the remote, silencing the program even as he silenced his brother.

"Shh!" he hissed, eyes barely moving from the door of Splinter's room. "Leo found out earlier that Raph is off probation, and can come and go as he pleases as long as he tells Splinter where he's headed. I'm waiting for the fireworks to erupt."

"Don, seriously, you need help," Mikey said. "You still have these unresolved anger issues that you need to deal with."

"And what would you know about unresolved anger issues?" Don, momentarily distracted by Mikey, glared at the Turtle.

"Hey! **I** watch Dr. Phil!" Mikey defended, voice tinged with a touch of an indignant tone.

Before Don could properly reply to his obviously delusional brother, a loud outburst from Splinter's room caught both their attentions.

"What do you mean, I'm not ready?"

"Exactly what I say! I always say what I mean, Leonardo! You are not ready!"

"And Raph is?"

"Your brother has shown more maturity in this matter than you have! You continue to approach this matter in a decidedly immature way! And, DO NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME AGAIN!"

Silence-- then the door to Splinter's room slid open under a lot of force, and Leo exploded forth. In several quick strides he was in the dojo, attacking the heavy bag in much the same way that Raph did when he was angry.

Splinter was right behind him, almost before Leo landed the third punch. Ears flat, whiskers quivering, and that tail lashing back and forth as if it were seeking a naughty turtle behind to spank!

Leo turned to face his father, desperately holding onto his temper. He just knew-- he just KNEW-- that he was going to do or say something that he would regret down the road but would be emotionally satisfying in the immediate moment.

Don just sat there, transfixed, wondering who would land the first blow.

And at that moment, Raph came bursting into the lair.

"Guys! I don't know what's up, but comin' back here I spotted a coupla Foot headed this way! I trailed them a ways to see what was up. Followed them as far as the waterfront-- near that building where Mikey nearly became rat droppings! Anyone up for a little action?"

All eyes now turned to Splinter, who was still locked gaze to gaze with Leonardo.

"Yes," he said, eye contact never wavering. "Yes, I think you four should go and check it out. I do not like the fact that they even that close to us. Find out what is going on. But do not be careless."

"Hai, Sensei!" three of them chorused; only Leo had remained silent.

With great, great restraint, he kept all disrespect, all anger from his voice as he bowed.

"Hai, Sensei! We will be careful."


	17. Chapter 17

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Thanks thanks thanks to Machias Banshee for once again helping me with language stuff! EDIT-- someone KINDLY pointed out to me after all this time that Oroku is really the last name, and Saki is really the first, so Karai's name would be Oroku Karai. I will change it here, and if I feel up to it, I will change it in other stories/chapters as well-- but don't count on it. Heavy sigh...

TMNT are the property of Mirage. HEY! 100th Episode coming March 25th! Woo-hoo!

**Certainty**

"What do you see?"

"Two of them. That's all-- no, wait-- two more just came out of the shadows-- they're talking-- now those two are leaving the roof."

"Raph, you and Mikey shadow them. Find out where they're headed. Meet us back home."

"I don't get it. All they're doing is watching the buildings."

"Pretty damn cold work."

"Raph! Hurry up!"

"Like I don't know what to do! C'mon, Mikey."

Don lowered his high-powered night-scoping binoculars and looked at Leo.

"The two who are still here have a little hideaway," he informed his brother. "From what I can see, it's a sweet little thing, too! Looks like it belongs on the roof, and they have all the high-tech comforts of home. Best part: that is an active warehouse! Yet it appears no one has noticed them setting that place up!"

Leo chuckled at the obvious envy in Don's voice. Then he sighed, thinking.

"Could belong to Karai, you know," he muttered, thinking of the ownership of the building in question. "Any way of finding out?"

"Oh, I could probably find out easily," Don replied, shrugging. "But I doubt any of these places are a part of the Foot's legitimate holdings. Too open here, even with the amount of closed places."

"What in the world are they up to?" Leo mused; he had picked up Don's binoculars and was looking again at the two Foot ninja. "All they appear to be doing is watching."

"Waiting for someone?"

"Or looking for someone. Like that guy that the Dragons were looking for. And that group of Foot that Raph and I fought."

Don bit his tongue. He knew better than to say anything regarding that (for Raph and Leo) humiliating experience.

"I don't know, Leo. Seems like an awful lot of speculation on their part as well as ours. Still--" and he began to rummage through his handy duffle bag of turtle tricks-- "no sense in letting these babies go to waste!"

And he produced one of his remote devices that had originally been made to scope out the warehouses when they were trying to find out about this mysterious person who controlled rats. Don had been quite heartbroken that he'd never gotten to play with his new toys.

The size of small racing cars, he, Leatherhead and Professor Honeycutt had utilized Utrom technology along with their own to create these spies. They could transmit very clear color pictures back to the Lair, and could easily receive signals from the Lair as well.

__

"I mean, shoot-- if JPL can design robots that work on Mars by remote control from Earth, this distance is a piece of cake," Don had happily said to Honeycutt and Leatherhead.

"Leo, any way you can get this onto that roof without drawing the attention of the Foot?"

Leo merely gave his brainy brother a annoyed look, then, taking the item in question, vanished from sight. Don dug out a small handset that could activate and monitor the spybot.

"Finally," he grinned "I get to see if it will actually work!"

"You didn't test them?" Leo, back as if he'd never left, whispered.

"Well, yeah-- in the sewers-- and in the Lair," Don defended. "But those were controlled tests, hardly a real challenge or indicator as to the success of their abilities."

"Come on-- turn it on and let's go home," Leo said, ignoring his brother. "I don't think they're going to be doing anything tonight as it is, and I'm getting cold."

"Sure thing, Fearless Leader," Don grinned, activating his precious spybot. He stared at the handset long enough to get a picture ("How the hell did you get it in THERE without them seeing you?"), and then they headed home.

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"Raph, I'm cold."

Silence for about five minutes.

"Raph, I'm hungry."

More silence; only it was getting harder.

"Raph, I'm cold and hungry."

Even more silence, punctuated with a barely controlled snarl.

"Raph--"

"Mikey! For the love of God, shut up!"

Mikey, getting the desired reaction, merely smiled.

They'd been "ghosting" these to for what seemed like hours-- though Mikey knew that it had NOT been more than maybe twenty minutes-- thirty-five tops.

But it was obvious that the Foot knew they were being followed. They were taking a tour of the City it seemed. Mikey had pointed this fact out to Raph at least three times, but the older Turtle refused to give up just yet.

"I don't think they know we're tailin' them," Raph whispered yet again. "I think they're just under orders to make sure they're not being followed."

"Paranoid bunch, aren't they?"

"Well, if you hadn't been so set on pushin' my buttons, Michelangelo, you would have noticed that they **are** being followed, and I don't mean by us. Look."

And Mikey, looking in the direction of Raph's pointing finger, saw someone in the shadows of an alley, eyes on the fleeing path of the two Foot soldiers, talking into a phone.

"Hmmm... The Dragons are certainly dressing sharper than they did back in the day," Mikey commented, admiring the quality of the jacket that the spy for Hun was sporting. "Wonder where they get them made?"

"Plan on orderin' some over the Internet?" Raph smirked, leading his brother back towards home. "You know what happened the last time you tried something like that."

"Hey, April said if we needed anything really important to use that credit card number!"

"I somehow don't think she was talkin' about a mint condition first issue of 'Spiderman'." Raph, dropping into the manhole that he had just uncovered, waited at the bottom for Mikey to enter and replace the lid. "Especially when you started a bidding war on ebay-- and nearly won!"

"Yeah-- good thing someone outbid me at the last minute," Mikey sighed as they made their long way home. "I doubt I'd still be alive. But those jackets, however-- OW! What was that for?"

"For even thinking of it. I swear, Mikey, as soon as we get home, I'm gonna make sure Don puts a filter on that computer to keep you from orderin' anything."

"Not even pizza? Dude, that's harsh."

Silence.

"Raph, I'm hungry."

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"I do not like this at all, but you are right. All we can do is wait and watch," Splinter said when Leonardo was through with his report. Then he had listened as Raphael told of their efforts to shadow the other two, and how it appeared that the Purple Dragons were also watching the Foot as well.

"I wonder," Don mused. "Raph said that a few months ago the Dragons were looking for this guy. Now it appears that Karai has her soldiers out looking as well. Do you suppose Hun has-- well, subcontracted out?"

The others exchanged looks.

"You believe that they could be working together?" Splinter asked. He knew as well as they did that there was no love lost between Hun and Karai.

"Well, the only thing I can think of is that," Don explained. "We know that they're both looking for this Dr. Baker. They don't appear to be working hand in hand, but they also don't appear to be in competition. In fact, it looks as if the Foot are doing the search now, and the Dragons are watching the Foot. So, maybe Karai and Hun came to some agreement-- only Hun doesn't trust Karai."

Splinter thought on this. Then he looked at all four.

"I do not like the idea of the Foot being so close. I do not want them entering the sewers. I am not sure if we should involve ourselves in this business or not," he admitted. "On the one hand, why should we needlessly place ourselves between two factions over a person who has caused such harm to us and our friend Leatherhead? Yet, on the other-- why should we allow either of these groups to gain 'control' of this being?"

"With respect," Leonardo spoke. "I would like to prevent them from capturing this scientist. They are planning something that only this person's expertise can help them with. For him to fall into the hands of either organization can, to me, only spell trouble for the City-- and for ourselves. That is my feeling."

"I'm with Leo on this," Raphael now spoke. "Though I ain't fond of the idea of riskin' my neck to save someone who worked for Bishop like that. Maybe we should consider _ansatsu_. Make sure that nobody gets him."

Mikey balked. He looked at Raph as if he'd just suggested they become villains.

"I don't think we should just off the guy to keep him out of their hands," he protested, initial shock turning to anger as he spoke. "This dude has been hiding for a long time! Obviously he was hiding long before Bishop died, so that must mean he quit-- you know, got disgusted with his actions and stuff, and wanted to be out of it-- people can change! Look at Victor! This guy probably changed and he quit-- and he had to hide or else they'd kill him. Now you're suggesting we do the same--"

"Enough, Michelangelo," Splinter put a calming hand on his youngest's arm, then turned to Donatello. "Your thoughts, my son?"

Don sat there, considering all he'd heard.

"This guy was involved somehow in Bishop's genetics research," he finally said. "Hun is looking for him. Somehow, I can't picture Hun needing him for anything like that, so logic would dictate that Hun is-- or was-- doing this for someone else."

Splinter nodded, and gestured Donatello to continue.

"Now the Foot are involved. Karai, of the two, would or could probably utilize any expertise this man has. But again, the question would be 'why'? Unless she has some bizarre notion concerning the Shredder. But I doubt that is the case."

"So we should involve ourselves with this man?" Splinter asked his sons after thinking of all they'd said.

"I think we should do our best to make sure they do NOT capture him," Leo said, speaking for his brothers.

"No _ansatsu_!" Mikey was adamant. Once again Splinter placed a calming hand on his son.

"Donatello, you are able to monitor the two on the roof?"

"Hai, Sensei. I can even hear their conversations-- most of it having to do with freezing their asses off and why are they stuck in such a dead-end position when others of lesser skills were given preferences and rank that should have been theirs in the first place, considering how many years of loyal service they'd given to the clan," Don laughed. "I get the general impression that, in their view, things were much more 'fair' when Oroku Saki was in charge. Mistress Karai's name is spoken with just a touch of contempt."

Splinter smiled briefly. Then he sighed.

"Very well. I doubt that it will come to anything, but should the opportunity present itself, let us ensure that this gentleman does not end up in the hands of either Karai or Hun."

Then, he fixed an eye on Leonardo.

"Only if the opportunity presents itself, my son-- do not create the opportunity!"

Leo, blinking in surprise, gulped a guilty denial down and merely bowed.

How does he know what I'm thinking before I even think it?

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The opportunity was not long in coming.

For several days the Turtles monitored the information that the spybot gathered. They trained daily; they got on each other's nerves (well-- MIKEY got on their nerves, to be honest); Raph went out a few more times after telling Splinter where he was going; Leo once again got a verbal "smack down" from Splinter when the subject once again came up about "when am I going to be treated the same as Raph?" "When you act as mature about this matter as Raphael has."

April came by with several bags of groceries.

"What is with all the popcorn?" she asked Don as he helped her carry the bags into the kitchen. "Are you doing some strange experiment?"

"Yeah," Mikey laughed, overhearing. "He's trying to see how getting fat will keep him from getting out of the sewers!"

"Popcorn is very low in calories," Don defended. "It only is fattening when it's coated in all that junk YOU pour over it, given half a chance."

Topside, Dr. Baker was spending another day in the line with the workers, waiting for his hot lunch and cold supper order to be completed. This had been going well. He'd begun to feel secure. He'd been able to come and go without anyone noticing him; he had even managed to get hold of a few items to make himself more comfortable in that warehouse office.

The meals were a bit heavy on the grease, but they also offered salads, and he made a point of buying a few at a time for his supper. They were easier to keep in case he was unable to access this "meals on wheels".

He was still careful, but in spite of that, he was becoming complacent.

Which is why he had no idea that he was being watched, as he managed to make his way back into the warehouse with his large bag of food for the day.

Several hours later:

"That is the building? You are sure?"

"Hai, Mistress! Our operatives have watched the area closely. He has changed his looks somewhat, but fortunately, one of them today spotted him in the crowd that frequents the lunch coach that stops here, and was able to 'shadow' him back to his hiding place. He is in that warehouse."

Karai, looking at the building from a safe distance in her limo, nodded even as her brow wrinkled.

"Am I mistaken, or is that the place where the police were investigating recently?"

"Hai, Mistress, as far as we can ascertain, that is the building where they found the remains of someone who appeared to have been eaten by many _sozoku_."

At this news, Karai managed to keep her composure; however, even now, she remembered the experience of dealing with rodents when she was homeless and alone-- the scratching, the stench, the hair, the almost battles she would wage against them in order to have a bit of food to eat!

_Sozoku_! And Leonardo's father was one of them; was, indeed, a _nezumi_!

She pushed her painful past, along with her vengeful future, from her mind, and returned her gaze to the reporting operative.

"Gather the men. We will brief them a block from here, and then move in. I do not want to attract any attention-- MARK MY WORDS! I do NOT wish to draw the attention of even a _nezumi_!"

The man bowed as low as he could in the back seat of the limo, then departed to gather the warriors.

Karai, in the spacious room of the limo, began to change from her business clothes into her fighting gear. She would not need to battle herself, but it would look more impressive to their expected "guest" if she were dressed the part of-- what was it that _baka yaro_ Agent Bishop had called her?-- oh, yes: "Warrior Princess". Well, she would present to this Dr. Baker the Warrior Princess. Such men seemed more fascinated with that aspect of her identity than her alter-ego of Oroku Karai.

Leonardo, for example, had always seemed to prefer--

With an angry snarl at the memory, she shoved the Turtle from her thoughts, and deliberately got dressed!


	18. Chapter 18

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Thanks to those who are sticking with me on this misguided adventure.

TMNT belong to Peter Laird and Mirage. Dr. Baker belongs to me. I suspect that Mr. Laird makes more money than I do.

**Contact**

He came awake, convinced that someone was in the warehouse.

He didn't even bother checking; precious time would be wasted, and he would rather be safe than sorry.

Moving as silently as he could, he immediately went to his "escape" hatch-- a window that he'd made sure he could easily open and just as easily get through and up to the roof. One of the supplies his friend had provided him with was a fire ladder-- one of those ingenious devices that you could hang out of the window of a burning building and climb down to safety.

Only Baker had installed it on the roof, the end attached to a long piece of twine. One quick pull, and the chain ladder came snaking down to him.

Grabbing his backpack and whatever else he could, he was out the window and onto the roof.

That's when he saw the limo waiting in the street-- and the two figures, small yet in plain sight, watching him from another building.

Damn. No where to go.

Desperately he looked around. He knew that there would be more on the roof in no time. Quickly he retrieved the chain ladder, ran to the far side, ducked behind some large container that used to house God knows what, and scanned the area. No one. He looked at the ladder. It would not go far, he knew that, but he was a desperate man. He noticed how close this building was to the water. Hanging the ladder so that only one of its anchoring hooks held the side, he shed the backpack and his jacket. Ears tuned to any noise, he quickly put his plan into action.

A scream cut through the night, followed by the splash of something heavy hitting the icy river.

When the two Foot who had gained entry to the room Baker had been staying in, they immediately went out the window, making their own way to the roof without the need of a ladder. As they got on the roof, their colleagues across the way gestured in the direction that Baker had gone.

Before they'd taken three steps they'd heard the scream and the splash.

Quickly they made their way to the other ledge, saw the ladder swinging by one hook. In the dim lights they could see the ripples on the surface of the already agitated river. One pointed. Something was floating on the surface, then slowly sank.

"Mistress, he appears to have either leapt or fallen into the river," one reported into his communication device.

Silence came from the device. The two stood there, uneasy; she was not one to accept such news graciously and calmly.

As if proving their thoughts, she barked a command at them in Japanese. The two stiffened, looked at each other.

"Hai, Mistress!" they responded, and left the roof.

Baker waited inside the empty shell of metal that used to house some large motor or machinery. He'd scraped his arm on a jagged piece of metal when he'd pried the maintenance door open, but he'd gotten it shut without spilling any blood on the outside. It had been hard to remain quiet inside this little space. His arm throbbed, and it was damn cold without his jacket. He had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering.

He heard the two outside; he heard their conversation with someone they'd called "Mistress". Then he'd heard them leave.

__

But have they really left? Have I indeed tricked them into believing that I have gone into the river?

What to do? If he moved, and they were still out there, they'd find him. If he stayed, and they were still out there, they'd find him. The chances of his freezing to death were good. He knew it wasn't cold enough to do the job quickly, but it was cold enough to do the job.

Sagging where he sat, cradling his injured arm, he closed his eyes. Perhaps he should just end it all in the river-- be done with it. At least it would be **his **terms, and not at the direction of Bishop's group, or at the hands of these-- these ninja!

He almost laughed as he sat there; the knowledge that people dressed as ninja were after him was almost surreal. He shook his head, wondering what he had done to deserve such a strange life?

__

If I could go back in time, I would spit in Bishop's eye and say "No, thanks!" -- Hell, I would go back even further and change my major in college to Agriculture!

It came as little surprise to him when the door to this place was suddenly forced open; his attempts to lock it had failed miserably.

With a sigh of resignation, he glanced up at the figure framed in the doorway. His eyes widen slightly at the sight; a silhouette of someone dressed for battle. He could make out the handles of what he suspected were swords just behind the shoulders-- obviously strapped to this person's back.

This person. As he stared, he knew before he heard the voice that this was a woman.

"Dr. Baker," he heard her say. "You will accompany me, please."

Ten minutes later he was sitting in the back of her limo. The engine was running, and the interior was very warm. But they had not gone anywhere. She had dismissed her driver, and had just sat in the back, using her phone to talk to someone in Japanese. He was puzzled to say the least. Someone had captured him, and was now taking her time in doing whatever she had plans for doing with him.

Finally her conversation came to an end. Snapping the phone shut, she turned her eyes on this scientist that everyone had been searching for.

"I will try not to say anything cliché and melodramatic," she told him. "My name is Oroku Karai. My 'organization' was recruited to search for you. Another group, run by my-- 'brother', if you will--" Baker noticed the sneering tone at those words, as well as her quick return to a more professional one-- "had also been asked to look for you. He has been doing so for many, many months. My operatives as well as his also tell me that we are not the only ones; that your former 'employer', or at least his organization, is still after you as well."

Baker didn't reply. How could he? His head was spinning just a bit at these events as well as perhaps the loss of blood. The wound on his arm was deep and had bled freely, but now it had slowed to a stop. Yet it burned like fire. He worried about infection, and wondered in the back of his mind when he'd last had a tetanus shot. He just kept looking at this woman who had introduced herself as Oroku Karai, wondering what martial arts movie she had escaped from, and tried to figure out her game.

Karai continued to study him as well. He was understandably nervous. What was so special about this man's knowledge that someone like Hun would not only be hired to find him, but would also want him for his own purposes?

"I am informed that you were part of Agent Bishop's genetic research team."

"Yes," he finally spoke. "For what it was worth, I was."

"Why did you-- quit?"

He shrugged.

"You have to be devoid of all human emotions to continue in the type of research that Bishop was engaged in," he said bitterly. "I discovered after a while that I had not rid myself of those emotions, I had merely suppressed them."

"Would this have to do with experimentations on people?" she asked directly. "Or did you rediscover your 'humanity' before it got that far?"

He studied her face. Calm, detached, almost cold-- the expression on such a lovely face seemed to enhance her beauty rather than detract from it.

"Why should I explain my reasons to you? Or are you in search of your own humanity?" he responded, still looking at her as if she were a test subject.

Karai quickly drew a hand back to hit this insolent person-- his eyes widened; he steeled himself for the blow. But she regained control of her emotions, and refrained from striking him.

"I wish to know why there is so much interest in the likes of you," her voice was forceful, but calm despite her still seething anger. "I do not wish to turn you over to those who may use you and your knowledge in a way that will be to MY detriment."

"Then let me go! I do not have anything that can benefit you or anyone else! I do not wish to work for anyone in this capacity any longer! I wish to be left in peace!"

"Unfortunately, letting you go is not simple. You will return with me to my headquarters. You will be my 'guest', and under my protection, until it is decided what will be of benefit to me and my organization."

She turned to roll down the window, to communicate with her driver.

Baker, taking a chance, made a break for it.

Distracted, her guard down, she was caught by surprise as he desperately kicked her, then got the door open and bolted from the car, headed God knows where.

"_Kuso_!" she swore, uninjured but angry at herself for being so careless. "After him!"

There was technically no reason for her to give that command. As soon as he had broke from the limo they knew he was to be captured. He may have had a surprise head start, but he could not escape them. This would not take long.

Running as fast as he could, slipping and sliding in the slushy remains of the snow that still lingered here and there, he knew himself that he had no chance. But he had to try.

He had to try!

Two of the Foot were close behind him as he blindly made for a warehouse, any warehouse. _If I can make it to those crates! If I can make it to those crates!_ he kept thinking, though why he couldn't say.

They were upon him in no time, grabbing him and punching him into submission. His body, shocked by the sudden attack and the beating and the icy coldness of the snow and slush and pavement, soon grew numb with coming unconsciousness. He struggled to keep from sinking into that blackness, afraid that Death awaited him in there.

Yes, this would not take long. The two Foot ninja were ruthless in their beating of this man. How dare he treat their mistress with such disrespect!

"Dude, that is so not cool," a strangely familiar voice sounded just behind them. Before either could respond, the sickening crunch of a chuk hitting a skull sounded twice in quick succession, and the two Foot were lying on top of the injured Baker.

His arm was bleeding again, and now he was stunned by the blows to the head. His vision was out of focus, but as dark as it was, it didn't matter; he had no ability at the moment to fight as the two bodies were roughly pulled off of him, then a strong hand on either side of him grabbed his upper arms and dragged him through the slush and filthy snow, taking him further into the shadows of some large crates stacked haphazardly near a building. There they propped him up against what felt like the wall, but he wasn't sure.

"Donatello, go to your brothers!" a voice commanded. "Michelangelo-- do not let anyone get this far!"

"Hai, Sensei!"

He heard the noise of people moving away from him, but he could not move from this spot. He had no idea who had grabbed him now, but at the moment he was in no shape to escape. He worked hard to open his eyes, to clear his vision.

"The Turtles!" someone shouted faintly, and then Baker was treated to a battle royal. Propped up against a wall, between some large crates, he could see more of these ninja-- and two of those Turtles!

"C'mon!" one said to the other. "We can't let Raph and Leo have all the fun!"

"I don't intend to," the other responded-- Baker saw him holding a long pole or stick or something, pointing it back towards him. "But YOU have guard duty! Later, little bro!"

"HEY! NO FAIR!" the one left behind shouted-- and then he was jumped by one of the Ninja.

"Yes! Action!" the Turtle shouted, and Baker's ever clearing vision watched in disbelief as this brief, violent battle took place before him. The Turtle was wielding what Baker recognized from movies as nunchukas, and wielding them with such speed and accuracy that his opponent, similarly armed, was decidedly dealt with in no time.

Something wet splattered on Baker's face; not a lot, not big drops-- was it raining? There wasn't much light, but as he rubbed a hand against this moisture that had hit him, he somehow knew that it was blood. And not his blood.

"Well done, but you need to work on your control just a bit," the voice said from somewhere above him. He had not spoken loudly, but the Turtle had heard the comment.

"Sorry, Sensei-- got a bit carried away," he apologized-- then he was set upon by a few more, and the battle was begun again.

Meanwhile...

Leo was paying back old scores. He had launched himself into a small group of Foot, trying to make his way to the limo. With deadly precision, he demonstrated to himself that his recovery from the battle with Bishop was pretty much complete!

Before they could properly respond, Leo had either killed or seriously wounded five, leaving five more to deal with. His swords shimmered and flashed in the pale glow of a street light, moving as if they were being handled by a warrior of old!

Block-- swish/slash CLANG-- slash slash slash-- metal on metal, metal on flesh, metal on bone-- blood spurting in many little fountains of crimson, cries and curses and threats and shouts in Japanese and English by all concerned.

Leo spun, swung, blocked, slashed, swung, spun, kicked, blocked, stabbed, and blocked again. He moved with an ease more in keeping with doing katas in the dojo than fighting to the death. Soon he was the only one standing. The remaining Foot had fled.

He saw her, standing there, swords ready, her eyes on him reflecting unbelievable hatred-- and glowing admiration.

__

All that stands between us is her father.

Leo made to attack-- and was immediately cut off from her by another group of Foot. And as he fought, he caught glimpses of her, watching and waiting-- _waiting for me to fail? To die?_

Donatello was getting a good workout. He hadn't had such fun in a while.

"Hmmm... You guys haven't been getting in enough practice, have you?" he asked, as he quickly handled his fair share of Foot then ran to join Leo. "Must be the cold weather, these guys are a lot easier to whup than they used to be."

"If they're so easy, then what kept you?" his brother asked, sensing Donnie at his back.

"I was just admiring your skills," Don, cracking two skulls with a sweet little flourish of his Bo staff, replied. "It's the first fight I've seen you in in months."

Raph finished yet another Foot. He'd soon lost count of the number of those he'd defeated, but that didn't matter. He was feeling no pain.

God, he had missed this!

Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed the scene. Many Foot lying dead or wounded on the ground. Many more waiting in the wings for their turn to kill or be killed. Somehow, to Raph, they seemed less than eager to engage in combat.

__

Must be my imagination, but they certainly ain't as tough as they used to be.

Leo and Don were taking care of a large group that seemed to be shrinking by the minute. Mikey, doing guard duty, was having a bit of a workout himself, but nothing he couldn't handle.

And then he spotted Karai.

She was standing there, summoning more soldiers, looking increasingly angry at her men's inability to defeat such a small number, barking out commands and curses alternately in Japanese and English.

Raph spotted Karai standing there, watching the humiliation of her Foot, and his smile was bigger than it was last Christmas.

"Karai!" he bellowed. The woman turned swiftly, scanning the area-- her eyes landed on him; even from where he was, in the gloom of the night, he could see the hatred burning in her eyes. He grinned even wider, stepping out into the open, taunting her.

"Karai!" he yelled again, with a laugh in his voice as he beckoned to her. "_Kocha koi!_"

Her breath hissed in sharply, her head snapped back, as if she'd been slapped hard! Something inside her broke, and all she could see was a chance to begin avenging her father!

With a battle cry, she launched herself at her enemy, and was met with the full force of a Turtle looking to settle some old scores himself.

He had the upper hand; she, in her white-hot anger, in consequence of her enforced months behind the "corporate" desk, made beginner mistake after beginner mistake-- which only set her off more!

"**_Kisama_!**" she spat, as he easily blocked her katana, spinning her nearly off balance with the quick movement of his sai. Metal clashed against metal.

"What's the matter, sweetie?'' Raph taunted, as she failed again and again to connect with a killing blow-- he was deflecting her attacks easily. "Kinda out of practice, eh? Just like your pathetic ninja."

With a sudden spin he landed a powerful kick right to her midsection, nearly doubling her over even as it sent her flying back a few feet; landing hard on her rear, she was unable to move for a few seconds. He had knocked the wind out of her, and she was vulnerable.

He leapt at her, both sai ready to finish what the Utroms on that fateful day had prevented from happening, but he was intercepted by her most loyal assistant, the tall bald man, who defended his mistress with great skill. Raph lost one sai, but also managed to disarm his opponent.

While Raph was engaged, her driver moved in quickly and assisted the injured Karai back to the limo.

"Ninja! Vanish!" she managed to draw enough breath to shout, and at the sound of her voice, the Foot ceased the battle and fled into the shadows, scattering like roaches when the light is suddenly turned on. Even their dead and wounded were gone, spirited away as if by magic.

"Awwwww!" Mikey complained, 'chuks swinging dejectedly in his hands, dripping blood on the trampled slush. "Just when it was getting good, too!"

"You sound more and more like Raph every day," Don commented, wiping down his Bo staff with a scrap of cloth he carried for just such a reason. "Damn! That one guy's head put a crack in my baby! Doesn't he know how hard I work to keep this thing in excellent condition?"

Leo, breathing hard, stared at the retreating lights of the limo; then he turned to join his brothers who were now grouped around the frightened man shivering on the ground.

Baker's vision had finally cleared. What he couldn't see he could hear, and during it all, a voice from somewhere above had made comment after comment, as if making notes for a future lecture-- the calm, judgmental tone had sounded like a discord note to the symphony of battle.

Now he was being stared at by the four victors. The one with the swords was closest, staring him in the eyes, sizing him up, deciding if he were friend or foe.

He stared back at Leo, clutching his left arm to his chest with his right, cradling it like a child. His shirt front, soaked in places with blood, was beginning to freeze in the harsh weather.

Somehow, the eyes of this creature seemed more threatening than the eyes of Oroku Karai.

"Y-y-you're one of... of the turtle specimens," he needlessly chattered, eyes never leaving Leo's.

Leo's look registered shock, then grim anger.

"Specimens? Specimens?" he growled, stepping towards the terrified scientist. "Oh, yes! I remember you! You're one of those 'researchers' who like taking animals apart to see what makes them tick-- even if they can TALK INTELLIGENTLY!"

__

The horror of their first exposure to Bishop came flooding back; the confused pain and strange semiconscious awareness that blood was being drawn, fluids were being extracted, cold, detached voices were sounding in his ears: "I will be most interested to examine the creature's brain. It appears to be highly developed. I am looking forward to comparing it to the average human brain."

"All in good time, Dr. Baker," the nightmare-remembered voice of Bishop echoed in his memory. "I, however, get 'dibs'."

BISHOP! The laugh-- the laugh and the sarcasm and the arrogance and the almost ghoulish delight in tormenting someone helpless-- he was standing over Mikey-- he was going to dissect Mikey, Bishop was going to dissect Mikey!

"LEONARDO!"

The sharp command of Splinter cut through the red rage that had consumed Leo; as if suddenly waking from a dream, he realized that he was standing over this-- this MAN-- and Splinter was between the two of them, blocking the katana strike with his walking stick!

The terrified man on the ground was sure he was dead. Then the owner of the voice he'd been hearing was suddenly between him and the blade of this Turtle.

From nowhere, it seemed, Splinter had appeared-- had appeared to defend this man from his son-- no, to defend his son-- to defend his son from committing blind rage murder.

"Leonardo! **_Rokuni_**!" Splinter commanded again.

Leo looked into the eyes of his master. He could see his own face reflected in them-- and he didn't recognize himself for the moment. Such anger! Such anger!

As if he had no energy left, his arm fell to his side; he nearly let go of his katana, but managed to hold on. Then, with a deep, ragged sigh, he put it back in its sheathe, bowed to Splinter, and then retrieved its twin from the ground where it still lay, blood-covered and half-buried in the slush.

Splinter, certain that his son had regained his senses, turned and glared in turn at this person.

"You will come with us, Dr. Baker," he said, and there was no compassion in his voice. But there was control; control of his own hatred, his own anger, his own demons. "You will come with us before anyone else finds you. Raphael, we will blindfold him, and you will be responsible for his safety."

"Hai, Sensei," the turtle growled, knowing that if Splinter had not added that last part, the man would have had little chance of reaching the lair alive. He, too, remembered this man now-- he, too, would have liked to attack.

But he would do as his Master commanded. He would keep this guy safe.

For now.


	19. Chapter 19

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GAK! I have tried to keep this story away from what is going on in the show, but NOW I'm wishing I'd worked faster! OMG what happened today (Feb. 4th)! I weep for the Lair! And the guys! Anyway, know that this particular story is not following their story line, though Karai is definitely after them here as well. That witch!

Those cool Ninja Turtles are sadly not mine/ I beg and I wish and I plead all the time/ And though I do so/ I thought you should know/ But now I can't think of a rhyme.

**Calming**

"Leonardo! Sit down!"

Splinter's voice cracked through the lair like a thunderclap. The eldest Turtle had been hovering over the unfortunate Dr. Baker ever since they'd brought him back to their place, blindfolded and bleeding. It had mattered not to him that he was in Donatello's and Splinter's way as they examined, cleaned and tended to the jagged cut on the scientist's arm; he had loomed, dark and brooding and threatening just within reach of the shivering man, now quaking not so much from delayed shock as fear-- fear of this mutant with the deadly katana that he kept cleaning in front of him, katana that shown with a reflected light that for sheer coldness were rivaled only by the even colder gleam in Leonardo's eyes as he stared at Baker.

Leo, without a sound, moved to the couch. But his eyes did not leave Baker. And his katana remained in his hand, as he kept cleaning and polishing them.

Splinter had had Raphael escort the nearly collapsing man to his own chair. For the past fifteen minutes he and Donatello had worked with a skill and gentleness that frankly stunned the terrified man. He had cringed as they discussed whether the wound needed stitching, and had inwardly sighed with relief as they'd decided to work with butterfly strips instead.

"But I suggest that at your first opportunity you see a doctor," Splinter, voice cold despite his care, said, as Donatello put the finishing touches on the large bandage.

Michelangelo, in the meantime, had without anyone's direction made tea for everyone. He had studied the large and varied choices in the cupboard, and finally chose some kava tea-- everyone, he sensed, needed some stress relief, and the kava would do the trick.

Splinter, it seemed, was the only one who registered this effort of Michelangelo's however. Everyone else merely accepted without question the tea, though whether they would drink it or not was another matter.

Dr. Baker stared at the cup that was offered to him by Mikey, hesitant to take it.

"Go on, dude," Mikey, misunderstanding, joked. "I didn't poison it. Wouldn't make sense to do that after all the work Don and Master Splinter put into taking care of your arm."

Baker, as if startled out of a daze, took the tea in his trembling hands and forced himself to drink it. He refused to make eye contact with anyone in the room. The events of the past few hours were threatening to overwhelm the man after so many, many months of hiding, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold himself together.

"Now, Dr. Baker," Splinter's voice startled the man more than anything else; the tea slightly slopped over the side of the cup as he jumped. His eyes fixed on the rat, finally getting a good look. His mind struggled with itself: _a mutated species of a domesticated rat, possibly a blue_? to which the response was _Stop it! Stop it! All that science has gotten you is misery and pain! STOP IT!_

"How do you know my name?"

A simple question, and one that he had to ask.

"My sons discovered many months ago that someone was looking for you," Splinter replied, sipping his own tea. "They came across a gang who was searching among the homeless for you. One of them retrieved your government identification card."

Baker tried to think back. He'd been hiding for so long, it was hard for him to remember when. He knew he'd left Bishop's employment sometime after the invasion was over; yes-- it was around then--

"We were brought the bodies of the aliens," he began to say, as if unaware of the fact that he was speaking. "We were brought several bodies of the Triceratons, and ordered to perform complete examinations. We were told to make a thorough dissection to find out more about them."

"They was intelligent beings!" Raph's growl cut through the narrative, startling the man in the chair. He dropped his tea, spilling it all over his lap. The cup clattered to the floor but didn't break. He tried to push himself into the chair, to hide from the words of this Turtle.

Though Raph had spoken so forcefully, he had remained on his perch, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Splinter, whose fatherly hand had been placed on his son's knee, both for comfort and to comfort.

"I know! I know!" Baker nodded violently, and his voice began to crack. "But they were aliens! All my time with the Organization, we had done this type of thing, mostly on old specimens. We never asked why or who or how! We were just so excited! We were on the cutting edge of Science, making discovery after discovery! Who knew if one of them would lead to a cure for cancer, or a way to end birth defects, or prolong life--"

Belatedly he realized that they were all staring at him in disgust.

He agreed. Disgusting man! Inhuman man!

"I was stripping one of the Triceratons when I came across this," and he pulled from his pocket the one thing he'd managed to hold onto all these dangerous months. It was a medallion, hanging from a sturdy chain. It was shaped like the insignia on the uniforms-- heart-shaped, yet with straight lines and angles instead of curves. About three inches long, and a fourth of an inch thick, it had three colorful squares on it that sharply reminded Don of the key cards that the guards at the Triceraton prison used.

Don took the medallion, examining it, the man's story forgotten for the moment. Pressing the blue square, a sudden light shot out from it, and there was a holographic image of the Triceraton.

"Tragion, second lieutenant, 00zed849alpha7725. Long live the Republic!" the voice, deep, confident, yet not very loud, sounded from the image.

"Whoa! A Triceraton equivalent of dog tags!" Don breathed, impressed. Then he looked back at Baker. "This is what brought about the change in your attitude?"

Baker, tears in his eyes as he once again looked at this image, shook his head no.

"It was what was revealed when you press the yellow square," he whispered hoarsely. He shut his eyes, squeezing the tears out; they ran freely down his face, but he would not open them. He knew that Donatello was going to press that button. It was all he could do to keep from putting his hands to his ears.

Don, pushing the button, gasped-- and so did the others, now crowded around for a better look.

As if standing on Don's outstretched hand there was another holographic projection-- this one of a female Triceraton, dressed in a simple gown of lavender. Playing around her feet were two very young Triceratons, and in a container of some sort they could see what appeared to be two large, leathery-looking objects.

"By the time you return home, my love, the eggs will have hatched," the female smiled. "And these two naughty children will be finally walking!"

Here she reached down and laughingly swatted both on their tails. Their childish laughter, echoing throughout the lair, was only answered by the muffled sob of the man in the chair.

"Hurry home, my love! I miss you."

The image faded; the projection had run its course.

Mikey got up and left the room. He had to go somewhere else, to get out of this room, this home-- he needed to get away from that man. Watching those images had sharply reminded him of another Triceraton-- Zog. Had Zog carried one of these things? Or were they only for officers?

The others heard the door to the lair open then shut. No one commented on Mikey's leaving.

Splinter stole a glance at his other sons. Donatello was studying the device, but he could tell that his son was not as detached as he pretended to be from the emotions this image had summoned in all of them.

Raphael wore that expression of suppressed rage that Splinter knew all too well. He watched as his violative son flexed his fingers absently, as if feeling his weapons in them, while he glared at this human seated before them. Splinter could feel the anger emanating from Raphael.

But he was keeping it under control; for that Splinter was thanking his ancestors.

Leonardo, who had gotten up off the couch to get a better look, now stood frozen near the chair, and Splinter for a brief moment had a vision of his oldest losing control and attacking their "guest".

The ligaments in Leonardo's neck were standing out as he clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything. He, too, flexed his hands as if they held his twin katana. He, too, wore a look of utter contempt and anger, of rage beyond belief at what had been revealed. But he, too, kept himself in check.

"I-- I knew then," Baker's voice, harsh and choked with emotion, cut through the silence like a knife, "I finally knew then what I had become. I had made excuse after excuse from the moment Bishop showed us our first alien specimen, that it was in the name of Science; that we were doing something important that could save the world; that no matter what, these creatures were not human, they were dead anyway, what could it matter?"

He forced his eyes open, made direct eye contact with Splinter.

"Even when I was presented with the living specimen of a mutated Crocodile-- even when he spoke to me, stared at me with those eyes that reflected intelligence and understanding and fear-- even when Bishop presented us with these four--"

That was it! Leo had the man by the shirt front so swiftly that he'd not had time to prepare or even shriek.

As fast as Leo was, Don was faster! With a sudden sweep of his leg, he brought Leo down, hard, on his shell, with the unfortunate Baker landing on top of him. But before Leo could recover, Splinter had snatched the stunned scientist from his son's grasp, while Don flipped Leo over and got him into a restraining hold that his angry brother could not escape. But he tried; oh how he tried!

"Leonardo! Go to your room!" Splinter shouted. "Do not leave it until I say to!"

Leo quit struggling. At a nod from Splinter, Don released his brother.

Leo got up and without a look at anyone went to his room as quickly as he could. His age and position as leader kept him from slamming the door like a brat, but his anger loosed itself on his mattress and pillows.

The muffled sounds of emotion could be heard coming from upstairs.

"This is why Leo needs a punching bag in his room," Raph growled, his eyes on the man who was being escorted back to the chair by Splinter. He was wishing that he could have a go at someone or something at the moment.

Splinter resumed his own seat, wishing that he could vent his own anger and horror, but knowing that he could not.

"So, you left the employment of Bishop," he said, trying to restore calm to himself and their "guest". "And he did not like your departure?"

"Too many secrets," Baker mumbled, still appearing shook up; also, he was becoming so exhausted! The terror of the past few hours; the injury to his arm; the emotions that he'd been flooded with were draining him of energy. He wanted to sleep. He desperately wanted to go somewhere safe and sleep and forget all of this nightmare.

Just sleep.

"Too many secrets about regenerating the body," he shook himself, trying to keep from closing his eyes. "Bishop had found a way to prolong his life-- at least, that was our speculation. We had a bit of proof that he had been the head of this program for longer than seemed humanly possible. I had worked with them for about fifteen years, and while those around me aged appropriately-- me, included-- Bishop always seemed unchanged."

"Could it have anything to do with cloning?" Don asked, remembering that underground lab when they first rescued Splinter. All those clones! Had Bishop found a way to prolong his life through the use of the clones?

"Perhaps. We never really found out," Baker replied, slowing down more and more. So tired. So very tired. "I was responsible for a special project having to do with regenerating the brain. I was told that it was with the goal of repairing brain damage to people with head injuries, or stroke victims... I was told that it was for Humanity... I was told..."

He sagged in the chair, eyes closing in spite of himself.

"I was told a lot of things that proved to be lies," he whispered. Then he rallied himself, sat up straight, looked at the three remaining beings in the room. "Please! All I want is to be free! It was stupid of me to stay in New York, but at the time I knew that it was my safest option. Bishop expected those of us who ran to try to get as far away as possible. That made it easy for him to find them! But I knew if I stayed close to his base of operations, I would stand a better chance of finally escaping! Now he is dead, yet people still hunt me! I just-- I just want--"

He sagged again, sighed, stared at the floor, spent and resigned. Let whatever was going to happen, happen. He was a dead man either way.

Splinter rose from the couch, studying this human critically.

"Donatello," he finally said. "I would be grateful if you would allow this gentleman the use of your room for a few hours. He needs to rest. We can discuss this matter further later."

"Hai, Sensei," Don bowed. "Dr. Baker? If you will come with me?"

Baker, in a daze, meekly arose and followed the brainy turtle upstairs.

"We're gonna keep him?" Raph asked Splinter, following his father into the kitchen. Splinter filled a small pot with water and set it on the stove. The tea that Michelangelo had made was nice, but Splinter was craving something a bit stronger-- _kanzake_.

Raphael watched as Splinter got out his _tokkuri_ of sake and three cups. He stood by the stove, waiting for the water to reach the right temperature, and looked at Raphael.

"For now, I fear we have no choice," he replied, as the water quickly heated to the right temperature. Splinter turned off the flames and sat his _tokkuri_ into the water, watching the sake, waiting for the bubbles to rise. He wanted _joukan_. "We have landed ourselves into the middle of something that we must now see through. How we are to do that I have no idea. I am sure of one thing, however; we have made ourselves very much a target for the Foot. I doubt that Karai will sit still for long."

When the _joukan_ was ready, Splinter poured himself a cup, as well as one for Raphael and one for Donatello, who had come into the kitchen.

"They were a pretty lame bunch," Raph commented, waiting for the hot drink to cool just a bit, not wanting to scald his tongue like the last time.

"Yeah, and Karai wasn't at her normal level of skill, either," Don agreed, sipping his drink. "Great-- now I'm craving sashimi. The Foot we were spying on were grumbling about how things had changed since she took control. Lots of stuff like choice jobs and special training reserved for 'the Tokyo bunch', while they, the loyal ninja of the great Oroku Saki, were treated as _gaijin_ and deemed unworthy."

"Yeah? I wonder which group we went up against tonight?" Raph mused, sipping his now somewhat cooler drink and enjoying the "kick" that it gave him.

Splinter sipped his own _kanzake_, thinking on everything that they had learned. He sighed, and shook his head.

"Regardless of who was there tonight, I doubt that the next encounter will be as simple," he said. "For now, we will keep this man. It is my opinion that to have him loose would spell disaster for us, regardless of who captures him. Let us make sure he cannot leave the lair until we wish him to."

He finished his drink and had another. Then he arose from the table, looking grim.

"You two can explain it to Michelangelo when he returns," he said, drawing in a deep breath and letting it go. "I will explain it to Leonardo. Oh, and do not drink up all the _kanzake_! I will probably want another cup once Leonardo and I are finished with our discussion."

And with that, he made his way to his eldest son's room.


	20. Chapter 20

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One of my readers is waiting for a certain "confrontation" to take place, but once again I must disappoint Terran-- just know that it IS coming. I return to school fulltime next week, so I will probably not be updating as much as I would like. Thanks to those who have kept up with this plotbunny ranch of a story!

TMNT are not mine. **Norma's** is a real place in New York City and I hope I get to go there someday. Dr. Baker, Agent Grant, Dr. Soto, and a few other "characters" pretty much are mine, however.

**Conglomeration**

**Karai**

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Kyojakuji!

As she attacked the large body bag over and over, punching and kicking, she chanted that word in her mind, a self-berating rhythm to her anger.

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Kyojakuji!--punch--_Kyojakuji!_--punch--_Kyojakuji!Kyojakuji!_--double punch--

__

"Kyojakuji!" she screamed aloud, kicking the bag with such force that it swung wildly on its chain.

"Mistress, it is not my place, but you--"

"_Shine bakayaro_!" she growled, turning her self-anger on her most trusted assistant. He immediately knelt down on one knee, bowed his head in respect and silent apology. "I **am** a weakling! I have failed miserably! HOW could those four mutants defeat so many of my Ninja unless **I** am the one who is weak? My father was **always** strong! **He** would not have failed in such a simple task!"

The tall, bald assistant for the immediate moment kept his mouth shut. Oroku Saki had failed many, many times-- right up to the end. But now was not the time to point this out.

In fact, his mistress had become so blind to anything that was the truth regarding her "father". She, who used to have shame, who used to struggle to reconcile her honor with the dishonorable dealings of the man who had taken her in and raised her-- now she guarded his memory jealously, and would hear nothing spoken against him under pain of death.

He decided to take the chance; to not do so would be not serving his Mistress fully.

"I will risk this, Mistress-- your father was not perfect," he said, steeling himself for the blow he expected, surprised when it didn't come. "Even he knew this. True, he was used to success, but he had failures-- due to the inability of those around him to accomplish what they promised. Or have you forgotten the number of times Hun--"

NOW the blow came. Prepared as he was, it sent him sprawling back a few feet.

"I am the weakling, fool, for I have sat behind a desk too long!" she snarled. "When my father was here, I ran training sessions. His American army was very good, but with my training they became better. When I brought over some of our most promising from Japan, things should only have improved, not deteriorated! Infighting, petty jealousies, and criticism of ME! YES, I have HEARD the mumblings and grumblings of the lowly."

She extended her hand to her assistant, and he took it without question. She helped him up off the floor, then motioned for him to follow.

"I will be holding mandatory sessions starting from today," she dictated, grabbing her towel and striding through her private dojo with long steps. "Arrange for the men to be there. We will set up a rotating schedule. When I am not personally overseeing it, then you or Sato will be in charge."

"Hai, Mistress," he responded as they entered her large bedroom on her way to the bath. "You are to meet with Dr. Chaplin today, Mistress. Shall I reschedule?"

She paused just for a moment, considering.

"No, I have much to discuss with him. Very well, as soon as I am through with him, the first session is to begin. I want as many there as possible, Tanaka-- I have **much** to say to them, and I do not wish to repeat myself."

With that, she entered her bathroom and prepared for the business end of her day.

**Hun**

"She what?" he nearly shouted into his phone. The words startled his second-in-command-- or rather, the tone of his voice more than his words. Hun sounded as if he were about to burst out laughing. "You're sure of this? Little Miss Perfect? HA-hahahahaha!"

Hun's assistant sat patiently, waiting for his boss to finish the conversation and tell him what had happened. He guessed, however, that it had to do with Karai and some sort of failure.

His gang name had been "Blades" because of his skill with all things sharp. Since becoming Master Hun's second-in-command and personal assistant, he had had to return to his real name of "Miller"-- as Hun had explained, when you gotta deal with the legits, "Blades" ain't a name that is gonna go down well.

Hun, himself, had managed to hold onto the name that many had known him by for most of his life; the addition of his family name to it for business purposes had not been as difficult for him as Blades' reverting to his own had been. "Mr. Black" was becoming a fixture in certain circles.

"Well, that part of your news doesn't make me laugh, but it can't be helped at the moment. I doubt the Turtles will want to keep him for long, once they learn more about him! Plus, I have a hunch he'll be trying to take off anyway... no, no problem! Expect a little 'gift' of gratitude to arrive shortly... yeah... yeah... and thanks again!"

Hun sat there, digesting the information one of his "friends" inside of Karai's organization had just imparted to him. He was disappointed that she had managed to get hold of this guy, only to lose him to those freaks, but at the same time her failure had amused him highly.

"Shredder always put too much faith in that girl," he said aloud to his assistant, after explaining what the conversation had been about. "Even so, I'm surprised that she failed. She's gettin' soft I guess!"

"How does this affect your plans, Master Hun?"

"Good question, Miller. At the moment, it's only-- as Dr. Stockman was so fond of saying-- 'a minor setback'," he laughed. "We'll discuss it later. Now, who are we dealing with first today?"

And he leaned back in the comfortable seat of his luxurious yet simple-looking limo, waiting for his assistant to lay out the day's appointments for him.

As he listened to his schedule of legitimate and not-so-legitimate activities, his mind was also going over this news. Karai's failure to capture Baker was a disappointment, though it still made him laugh. He only hoped he could keep a straight face when he discussed it with her later-- they were both to attend a special dinner for "select business people" at the invitation of one of the leading entrepreneurs of New York. It was to be a very low-key affair; just as well, considering Hun's past. But surprisingly, the man was either blissfully unaware of things, or was not worried.

He realized that his assistant had finished reading out the day planner and was waiting for instructions. Hun looked at his watch.

"I believe we have time for a nice breakfast," he decided. He'd been up since before dawn, working out and doing paperwork. It was time to eat. "Have the driver take us to _Norma's_. I'm feelin' particularly hungry!"

**Stockman**

"And, having reviewed all of the information you have so graciously provided for me," Stockman concluded, "it does appear that something might be achieved. However, by my estimates, it would be a year at the very least before we would be assured of any type of success. And even then, the damage was so great that, should we manage to produce what you hope for, I am almost personally convinced that it will not be the same Bishop that you seek."

"I think you are wrong," Agent Grant stubbornly said. "But we will save the philosophical discussions about the Soul for later. When can you begin work?"

Stockman kept the holographic image of his face impassive. He had such contempt for this woman and her obsession with the dead agent. _Why was she so insistent that he could be brought back the same as he was? Was she withholding vital information? That would be so like her type; they always think they know more than the brilliant scientist they have put all of their hopes into. Stupid woman!_

He briefly looked at his assistants, who stood to the side, silent and respectful. His lead assistant, forgetting himself for the moment, rolled his eyes at Agent Grant's question-- then blushed an apology when he realized that Stockman was looking at him.

Hiding a smile, Stockman turned back to the woman.

"We can begin the preliminary work within the week," he answered carefully. Then he "glanced" at one of the many files she had provided for him from Bishop's secret records. "However, I am intrigued by the mention of this Dr. Baker. It appears that he had made great progress in the regeneration of certain types of brain damage. Yet these records do not give me any details. I have scanned all of the computer data, and everything pertaining to his work has been deleted it appears. Only the fact that I find it mentioned in connection with other projects alerted me to his presence at all. Why is this so?"

Stockman had the satisfaction of witnessing Agent Grant's brown eyes grow hard; her shiny black hair seemed to almost move on its own in her evident frustration, and her entire frame tensed to the point were Stockman could see a vein stand out on her otherwise flawless forehead.

"He left the employment of Agent Bishop some time ago," she had to admit, and her words were brittle with anger. "And, he purged all of his notes and research. Precious little remains, and you have seen it. But we are still searching for him."

Stockman considered this information.

"I don't see why you bother," he finally said. "If he's destroyed all of his work, there is very little hope that he can repeat any of it. I've yet to meet a scientist who can perfectly recreate the hard work and incredibly long hours of research simply from memory. Even I used to have that problem-- that is, until Oroku Saki somehow turned me into what you see today."

Even now he could feel the hatred for this "man"; even now he wished that somehow he could still get revenge on his former "employer"!

"Nevertheless, we are still actively searching for him," she said, regaining composure. "I am trying to get the word spread that his life is no longer in danger. Bishop wanted him dead. I need him alive. He's still in the City, of that I am certain. And soon, I will have him. Mark my words, Dr. Stockman. I will have him back."

She turned on her heel and left the scientist. His assistants, quiet the entire time, seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief upon her departure. Stockman chuckled at them.

"Dr. Soto," Stockman said, addressing his lead assistant. "I gather that you had some difficulty with our supervisor's request?"

"Dr. Stockman, I am not saying this to kiss up, but if you cannot do this thing, why does she insist? Even if Baker could be found and-- 'persuaded'-- to work on it, you know better than I do that what she wants is--"

"Yes, Dr. Soto, I am well-aware of it," Stockman's voice cut off the assistant. "However, perhaps all of our efforts, which could be put to better use than this 'Frankenstein' scenario we find ourselves in, might result in something useful for the future."

Dr. Soto shook his head.

"I doubt it, but I'll start getting things ready."

Stockman watched as the middle-aged man walked away to begin the preparations.

"I am in agreement with you, Dr. Soto," Stockman muttered to himself. "However, we will play this game for a while-- until I have achieved what **I **am after-- and then, Agent Grant, you will be getting quite a surprise!"

**Splinter**

Splinter sat alone at the kitchen table, his sake cooling before him. Leonardo had finally been given permission to leave his room, had indeed been invited into the kitchen for a private drink with his father; but it had turned into a true battle-- he could not remember ever dealing with any of them in such a manner, not even Raphael.

__

"I understand fully your feelings in this matter," Splinter had said. "But he is under our protection now! You must remember that!"

"Sensei, he is just as evil as Bishop was! I know that he 'quit' his job-- but did he go to anyone? NO! He simply hid like a coward! Bishop could have been stopped long ago if he'd only gone to the proper authorities-- there was no love lost between those other government agencies and Bishop's little group!"

"Leonardo, what is done, is done! We cannot spend our lives in 'why' and 'what if'," Splinter tried to reason. "We must--"

"I know! PROTECT him! HIM!"

"Do not raise your voice to me again, Leonardo!"

"Did you see what he'd done to his own people? His own people!"

"Leonardo! Do not raise your voice to me or--"

"What? You'll spank me? Ground me? Big deal!"

**CRASH! **Leo's sake cup hit the wall, shattering into many fragments and splashing the contents in a wide spray.

Silence; then:

"You will meet me in the dojo before breakfast," Splinter had said, voice calm, but the anger could be detected. "You will meet me before the morning training session. Now clean up that mess and go to bed."

Splinter sighed again. Looking through the door of the kitchen he had caught a fleeting glimpse of Donatello hightailing it to his lab. He needed to punish that one as well, but at the moment he was too spent. He had sat there as a now contrite Leonardo cleaned up the remenants of his childish temper tantrum; had accepted his son's apology and wishes for a good night; but the anger lingered. He had never wanted to hit any of them more then at that moment-- and he knew that to do so in such anger would be inexcusable.

__

The appearance of this Dr. Baker has opened many old wounds in this family Splinter thought to himself, sipping the cooled sake. _So many old wounds..._

The sound of the door to the lair opening alerted him to the return of Michelangelo. Glancing at the clock he breathed a small sigh of relief. He had been gone many hours, but at least he was safe and had returned home well before dawn.

"Hey, Dad," the voice of his youngest sounded in his ears as Michelangelo, seeing the light on in the kitchen, came into investigate. "Wow, drinking sake? What happened? Did you guys have sushi without me?" he half-heartedly joked, joining Splinter at the table.

"No, my son, but we did have a few drinks tonight," Splinter smiled, getting another cup and pouring out some of the rice wine for Michelangelo.

"Man, must have been a special occasion," Michelangelo tried to smile, but in the back of his mind he was guessing that something else had kept his father up, sitting alone and sipping the _jouon_. "Want to tell me about it?" he asked in his best Splinter voice.

Splinter laughed at his son's attempt to be "father".

"No; just know that we are keeping this Dr. Baker here for the moment, under our protection. And know that Leonardo is not in agreement with the idea."

"I can imagine. Is anyone in agreement with the idea?" Mikey frowned. "Cause I'm sure not happy with this bit of news."

"I understand. But for the moment we must do this," Splinter replied. Michelangelo said no more. "Where did you go tonight, my son?"

"Hmm? Oh, I just wandered around the sewers. You know, checking the perimeter alarms, making sure there was no trail for anyone to follow, thinking..."

Splinter waited, but his youngest was not ready to share his feelings at the moment.

"My son, I am sorry, but I must have a definite date for the memorial service," Splinter gently said. "April must know by tomorrow or else she loses all of her deposits."

Mikey shuddered a disappointed sigh. How could he have forgotten the memorial for Victor? Even though he wasn't sure that Victor was really--

"Tell her the thirtieth," he finally said. "That's what... a little over two weeks from now. That is one of the dates Don gave me. Let's say the thirtieth."

Splinter nodded, watching his son drain the small amount of _jouon_ quickly and gladly accepting Splinter's offer of more, and they sat in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks.

"Would it be wrong to add Zog to the service, do you think?" he suddenly asked Splinter. For a moment, the rat was confused-- Zog?-- and then he remembered the Triceraton that Michelangelo was talking about. "I mean, he should probably have his own memorial, right?"

"Yes, he probably should, but it would not be wrong to add him to this one I suppose," Splinter replied carefully. "Though I am certain that his people already know somehow of his passing, and have already honored his memory. Victor, remember, had no family-- or indeed, people. It would not hurt to mention him in passing. Do not let what this Baker revealed to us haunt you, my son. I am sure that Zog was well-remembered and well-honored by his own. Do not let this 'image' that was shown to us bring you more grief. I miss hearing you laugh."

Mikey smiled, and kept any stray tears from showing.

"Remember that when Raph finds out what I did to his CD collection earlier," he joked, managing his old mischievious grin. "I hope he likes ballet music."

Splinter merely shook his head.

"Kids," he muttered, earning the laugh that he had been looking for.

**Victor?**__

Peace. Peace. No intruders, no pain, no memories of the past. Just peace.

He watched as his companions roamed away from their vast new home at night, off to scavenge food for themselves. They had all managed to remain undetected in this place, despite the incident with the boy and the complaints of surrounding neighborhoods about the increase in rodent activity in their area.

He, himself, was able to find enough to eat on his own-- not that he ate that much to begin with. Something about him made the need for constant food trivial. As long as he ate every few days, he seemed fine. Daily feeding was not necessary.

Sometimes he wondered about it, but fear of the pain would prevent him from thinking on it further. Something had happened that caused certain memories to trigger this pain-- someday he would be strong enough to figure it out.

He absently adjusted the bandages on his face, arms, and chest.

Where had they come from? He could safely remember that he once never wore them. He could safely remember that once he had no need to cover the strange-- whatever-- that had happened to his body.

Where had they come from? For someone had to have put them on him.

But though he was curious, he did not pursue it-- the pain had stayed away, but it could come back at a moment's notice. The pain was to be avoided.

He watched as a mother nursed her latest brood-- the noise they made as they suckled! The peeping, the fussing, the scrambling among the squirming pink hairless things as they fought for the best position to receive their milk! It was as if they were talking, yelling at each other to move, to let someone else have a turn, to stop drinking it all!

He had made this nest for her. She let none near her babies except him. He carefully placed some of the food he'd found for himself within easy reach, and she squeaked in appreciation, stretching her neck to nibble some of the tasty nourishment while still feeding her young.

Peace. No pain. Just Peace.


	21. Chapter 21

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Woohoo! Finally an update! Sorry, but RL has been a bear lately. Plus I have to really look again at the last episode, as I do not want to be accused of using it for my Bishop/Stockman/Grant stuff, but MAN! That episode raised some questions that I was already contemplating!

TMNT are the property of Mirage. Dr. Baker is the property of me. Extra thanks to Kya and Terran for suggestions and such! They belong to themselves, btw.

**Continue**

He woke up in the dark room, disoriented, panicked, alone.

It took several minutes of forced calm breathing to remind himself that he was "safe" for the moment; that he was underground where no one could find him; that he was under the reluctant protection of these mutants.

A clock across the room glowed brightly enough for him to register the time. He'd been asleep for more than just a few hours, it seemed. There was no way of telling if he was looking at AM or PM, but the clock alerted him to the fact that it was 5:11.

He was fairly certain that he had not slept well into the next day.

He lay back down in the dark room, trying to piece it all together. But there were too many distractions in here.

When the one called Donatello had brought him up here, he had tried not to stare at the vast and complicated items that, to an untrained eye would appear to be "clutter", but that Baker had recognized as the workings of a highly-gifted person. He almost began to question the Turtle about some of the interesting things he was seeing, but he felt a certain understandable "coldness" emanating from his host, and had refrained.

Still!

Briefly he wondered if there would be any way he could get word to his friend. Surely she would be worried by now! He had missed the last of his three scheduled meetings with her. It was their standard procedure-- they would agree to three different time and location meeting spots. She would not worry if he could not make it to either of the first two, but he knew that she would once again be panicking over his absence from the third.

He wanted to get up, to move, to perhaps get out of here before the one in blue forgot his Sensei's words and attacked him.

Oh, yes, he had heard the argument. Tired as he was, he had heard the venom-filled words of the one called Leonardo as he had argued with the rat over Baker's presence in their home.

__

This was the fault of Bishop! Such unique beings, and all Bishop could see were four specimens to be dissected and studied, to be used for his own projects, his own "mutations"--

His own creations.

The Slayer prototype-- there had been another project that he'd been involved with, though he'd left Bishop's employ before that one had been finally "activated"-- but his friend had kept him informed, had told him what had happened. He had not really believed it until about a month ago, when he'd come across that strange man lying semiconscious under that old bridge.

__

Cold, injured, yet alive; human and yet with strange metal parts here and there-- Baker at once had realized that this was one of Bishop's clones-- it looked so much like his hated boss-- and yet--

Once he'd gotten over the shock of recognition, Baker had done what he could, bandaging strange wounds on the man's torso, face, hands and legs, using up his entire supply of first aid items to do what he could. This may be one of his enemy's "projects", but he was a living being-- now. He couldn't turn his back on him, no matter what danger he posed to the scientist. He had then wrapped his own blanket, taken from his last backpack, around the guy, and had gone to phone 911 to come help the man.

And **that** might actually draw some more unwanted attention to Bishop's agency! Good! They need to be shut down! Someone needs to stop them once and for all! Perhaps this fellow will be the domino that tumbles the rest of them.

Going back to the bridge, he'd found that the man had left!

Great! Just great

Scribbling a hasty note explaining what happened, Baker grabbed his gear and had beat a hasty retreat, even as the sirens began to be heard.

Retreat.

Baker got up, and found his way through the dark room to the door. He had to leave, to get out, to contact his friend. He couldn't stay here. He had to keep moving, get out, go into hiding again.

Outside the door, the large area was lit, and he blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Looking around at this huge place, he marveled at its structure and design. This was obviously not something built by anyone having to do with the construction of the old subway system or sewers!

"Stop sightseeing, stupid," he whispered to himself, making his way down the stairs to the main floor, then glancing around. Quickly he found the entrance, and headed for it.

A noise startled him-- someone was in the kitchen. Pans rattled, doors opened and closed, plates and glasses softly clinked. Breakfast was being prepared, evidently.

Frantically he studied the door, figuring out how to open it. Obviously some sort of automated device controlled it, but at the moment it was deactivated.

Now he heard singing... it sounded like an old disco song, but the words were not the same...

__

"Lookin' for some **hot sauce**-- to make this ome-let-- I need some **hot sauce** to make it right-- I want some **hot sauce** for Raphy's ome-leeeet-- **got-ta** have some **hot sauce**, **got-ta** make this omelet **bite**!"

Baker was almost amused-- but he had business. As he searched for the almost certainly hidden keypad, he accidentally knocked against a small stand near the door. The scraping of the wooden legs against the stone floor seemed to echo loudly throughout the room. He froze, sure that someone had heard...

__

"Hot, hot, hot, hot--- ssaauuuce--- hot, hot, hot---"

The singer-- if he could be called that-- was making a rhythmic racket as he went about his cooking. Good. No one would notice if he made any noise.

Finally finding the hidden keypad, he began fussing with the buttons, trying to get one of them to open the door.

Suddenly there was a sort of hydraulic hisssss-- and the doors slid open. But the scientist was not able to exit. The blue-clad turtle was blocking his way.

It was hard to determine who was more surprised, Baker at being stopped by Leo, or Leo being "caught" sneaking back in after sneaking out.

His heart jumped within his plastron; for a brief moment he thought Splinter had been waiting there for him. After all, he was still on a sort of grounding-- not allowed out unless with his father or one of the others.

That was humiliating enough, but as Raph was now "one of the others" whom he was to go with, Leo was almost beside himself with anger and shame. To be supervised as if he were a turtle tot was one thing. To be supervised by his **former** inmate was something else entirely!

Baker, taking advantage of the the Turtle's surprise, almost made it out of the lair-- almost. In his haste he managed to trip in the relatively dark tunnel not ten yards from the entrance. Then Leo had him on his feet and none too gently hauled him back into the lair and tossed him onto the couch.

"What is going on, my son?"

Splinter's tone was sharp and serious. Leo gulped down his embarrassment at being caught by this human and addressed his master, keeping a glaring watch on the frightened scientist.

"I caught him trying to escape," Leo said simply. "He got out of the lair. I brought him back."

Don by now had shown up. He was puzzled by his brother's brief explanation. Glancing over to the entrance, he saw that the keypad, usually concealed, was visible.

"How did he get the door open?" he wondered. "I set the lock so that only we could work it. It should have at the very least set off the alarm if he got the code right! I made sure of that before I went to bed!"

"Perhaps someone already deactivated it earlier," Splinter said sternly, eyes on his eldest. "Someone who wanted to take a little walk, and not draw attention to his own departure."

Don's eyes went wide even as Leo's closed in frustration. Leo **had** been there when Don keyed in the command; Don had even given a detailed explanation to his curious brother who had just wanted "assurance that this human can't escape!"

_ Someone's going to be in trouble _ the brainy Turtle suddenly grinned to himself. Leo must have escaped-- and this scientist busted him!

"Good, you're all up!" Mikey's voice sounded from the doorway of the kitchen. "Breakfast is ready! Come and get it while it's hot! Hey, where's Raph? I made his specially for him."

"Just make sure you don't put any of his on my plate by accident," Leo grumbled, knowing that after they ate he would be in for it big time with Sensei. "I'm not in the mood for molten lava."

"No problem! I made his in a separate pan. And I like it, too, you know. I can't help it if you and Don have wussy stomachs," Mikey grinned. "RAPH! BREAKFAST!" he bellowed at the top of his voice, causing everyone to cringe and Splinter's ears to flatten more than they already were.

Turning his gaze upon the man, Splinter forced his voice to remain polite.

"Please join us in the kitchen, Dr. Baker. Eat something first. Then we will discuss your-- plans."

Leo clenched his fists in frustration.

"I am not hungry, Master Splinter. I will wait in the dojo," he said as respectfully as he could, bowing.

"Very well. I will join you shortly. I wish for a cup of tea first."

Leo bowed again, and moved off to the area where Splinter trained them, showing the proper respect as he "entered" the dojo.

Raph, by this time, had come jumping downstairs, landing with a soft thud, and making straight for the kitchen.

"I hope you spiced 'em up good, Mikey," he said, ignoring the situation going on in his family. "I'm in the mood for fireworks!"

"I thing you're going to get them," Don grinned, staring after Leo who was already working out on the heavy bag. "And not just for breakfast."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Splinter faced Leonardo in the dojo. They were alone. Splinter had made sure of that.

After a talk with Dr. Baker, they had convinced him to stay put for the time being, and Raph and Mikey were given the task of getting word to his friend that he was safe.

He had decided that he had to trust them. They had no hidden agenda; they were not going to kill him or use him. He had to trust them.

"Here is her number. She will require two code names--" here he wrote down on the paper with her phone number the words "Harriet Tubman" and the name of his ex-wife-- "both strong women, both potentially deadly, but only one was unselfish and cared for others."

Raph and Mikey refrained from comment.

"Place the call as far from the Lair as possible," Don had advised. "No sense in leading anyone to us if her phone is tapped. And here, use this as well-- it might help scramble your conversation enough that anyone listening in won't understand you."

"What about this woman understanding us?" Mikey had asked, genuinely curious as he studied the small rectangular item that looked like nothing more than a small plastic box. After all, how did it know which listener to mess up? But Raph was in a hurry, and they left before Don could explain anything beyond how to hook it up to the phone.

"Dr. Baker, I need to speak with my son in private," Splinter had said to the man. "I invite you to sit in my room. Perhaps you would like to rest some more? Feel free to do so in there. My bed is freshly made and though on the floor, it is very comfortable."

The scientist took the hint and retreated to Splinter's room.

That just left Donatello.

"Your room or your lab," Splinter said simply. "And the door is to be closed on both."

Don, face reflecting his disappointment, retreated to his lab to sulk and imagine what was about to take place.

_ Man! I really want to see Leo get what's coming to him he thought, slumping down in his chair, staring at his various projects._

He had admitted to Mikey earlier that he still felt anger at Leo and Raph for what they had done. Don still felt the "sting" of rejection-- for to him, that was what it had amounted to, a rejection of himself as a warrior. He was an excellent and deadly fighter. He had handled his fair share of Purple Dragons, Foot ninja, triceraton warriors, Federation troops, and countless other enemies that had faced them over the past few years.

Yet he was cut out of this final battle with Bishop-- deemed "incapable" by his older brothers; too sensitive; too weak.

Too useless.

Even now he could feel the anger building inside, threatening to explode from him in an unaccustomed display of rage.

__

Maybe Mikey is right-- maybe I **do** need some sort of therapy. Maybe this strange glee I constantly feel at every little bit of trouble Leo gets into is--

His thoughts were interrupted by the tinny voice of his brother. Starting, he glanced around-- and his eye came to rest on one of the security monitors. The hidden camera in the lair was aimed right at a long shot of the dojo. He could see Splinter and Leo, tiny but clear.

"How much longer are you going to treat me like a child?"

"How much longer are you going to **act** like a child?"

Carefully Don adjusted the picture, zooming in as much as he could without losing the perspective, turning up the sound just enough to hear every word.

"You have increasingly grown more immature these past few months," Splinter continued, keeping his voice low but firm. "You have defied me at nearly every turn, fully knowing the consequences, and then you have the audacity to complain when you receive the punishment that you know is coming. This is not like you."

"I am tired, master. I am tired of being cooped up, of being unable to go anywhere or do anything without a chaperone! You have kept me as the leader of my brothers, and yet I am to submit to these same brothers for even a trip to the surface for some air!"

"You knew and accepted these conditions."

"What choice did I have?" Leo bellowed. "You know what the real problem is? The real problem is that you lied! You lied when you said we didn't need forgiveness! Remember that? We begged you for forgiveness, and you said we didn't need it-- yet I am still being punished for what we did!"

"Do not raise your voice to ME!" Splinter returned loudly. "Lied to you? LIED to you? And what of you and Raphael? Had you not 'lied' to me and your brothers all those months before this happened? Had you not, by keeping quiet, by plotting in secret, by assuring me that you were just preparing for a future threat, lied to ME?"

"I cannot take back what has happened! I cannot change what has happened! Bishop is dead, killed by me and Raph! I'm glad he's dead! I would have danced in his blood if I'd had the strength!"

"That is **not** the way of the warrior!"

"Then what is? I should cry over Bishop's grave? I should honor his memory the way Mikey wants to honor that slayer? Yeah, let's have a memorial service for Agent Bishop, the man who nearly killed us all! Excellent idea, master!"

Leo should have been prepared, but he wasn't. The slap was fast and furious and even Don started in surprise at the speed with which his father had moved!

"You and I will have this out now," Splinter said to his stunned son. "You and I will have this out now with the bokken. No safety equipment. No pulled strikes. We will have this out now. You best me, and I will release you from your 'imprisonment'. I best you, and you will stop acting like a child."

Leo stood there, the sting of Splinter's hand still on his cheek. He stood frozen as Splinter moved to the weapons rack, returning with the solid wood swords.

Leo and Raph once had gone at each other like this. Splinter, years ago, had had enough of their constant fighting during one particularly long rainy season, when they'd been cooped up in their home because the sewers were overflowing and unsafe. Splinter had had enough, and had armed them with the bokken, telling them to _"beat each other senseless until you can no longer lift your weapons. Then you will both go to bed without supper."_

Man! That had hurt! He and Raph really thought that each would easily beat the other-- and after the first few incredibly painful blows, they'd started pulling their attacks, each not wanting to hurt the other. Once each had tasted the pain that a forcefully swung bokken could inflict, they had become less aggressive, despite the urging of their father to "hit harder! You both wanted to fight! Fight!"

By mutual agreement they had stopped, dropped their bokken, then bowed to Splinter and went to bed without a word but with many a silent tear.

And later, when Don and Mike were sound asleep, Splinter had brought them their dinner anyway, and had made them see that by constantly fighting, they were hurting their family.

"You could not, after the first few blows, continue to hurt each other," he had said kindly. "But your actions of the past few days have hurt me and your brothers as much, if not more, than the physical actions of being hit by a weapon wielded in anger."

Now Splinter stood before him, waiting for his son to attack, to once again take out his anger on a family member.

He stared at the bokken in his hand, then dropped it to the floor, and sank down to his knees, bowing is submission.

"I do not believe that you have let go of your anger," Splinter said simply. "But I will not strike you or push you further into this. When you begin to show the same maturity as Raphael in this situation, then you will be free from this 'imprisonment'."

Splinter was right, Leo thought, still bowed to the floor. He still had the anger. But for the moment, it was in check. He would not be goaded into this action.

But this wasn't over. Not yet.

"Go to your room until lunch please," Splinter said. Leo arose, bowed to his Sensei, and left with the dignity that a leader should show.

Splinter stood there, following him with his eyes. Then he turned and stared directly at the security camera.

"And as for **you**, Donatello-- you will do one hundred flips before bedtime, and then you are grounded for two weeks. And no Internet. Or trips to Leatherhead's place. OR junkyard."

Don, in his lab, stared at the screen in disbelief.

"Damn," was all he could say.


	22. Chapter 22

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Whew! YES! I've finally updated! Happy dance! I have had a bit of a block, but hopefully things are back on track. Hope you all haven't forgotten me!

TMNT are the property of Mirage. Baker and any other O.C.s are the property of me. Hand up those who want to share a nice hot bubble bath with Mikey!

**Continuation**

"Mikey, hurry up! I'm freezin' my ass off out here, and I don't like how the area looks!"

Raph, keeping watch as Mikey was in the phone booth, shivered in his disguise. They had roamed out fairly far to find a place where they could place the call to Baker's friend. It had taken them several searches to find a working phone. Now, near what appeared to be a fenced off and abandoned foundry, they stood exposed in the dark winter gloom.

They had taken their time, as ordered by Sensei. Though they knew they were going to miss the opportunity of seeing Leo get his tail handed to him by Splinter, the two had jumped at the chance to leave the lair in daylight. They'd gone immediately to April's where she fed them a nice lunch and packed them a thermos of hot chocolate.

"Mikey," April had hesitantly begun, but before she could go further, Mike flashed her a winning grin.

"Here's a list of dates," he had said, fishing out the expected paper. "This one for sure! Promise! Cross my heart and hope to-- well, to kiss Raph on the mouth!"

"I got a place you can kiss me," Raph had growled in reply.

Now, they were only interested in finishing their mission and returning home to the comforts of video games and hammock.

No one was around, though it was the middle of the day. The air had once again become cold, the sky thick with the clouds of a predicted blizzard-like storm that was expected to hit within the next few hours. Lights were already showing in the apartments in the distance, and Raph's breath even through the muffler that wrapped his green face was billowing large white distinct puffs as he spoke.

"Dude, I'm having trouble with the coins," Mikey grumbled, struggling with ever increasing frozen fingers to load enough of the necessary money in order to place the call. "Why can't we just use a Shell-Cell?"

" 'Cause Don said not to," Raph groused back. "Something about 'triangulation' and 'wireless tracking'. C'mon! Jeeze! I can feel my blood freezing!"

"Keep your shell on," Mikey muttered, finally getting the correct amount into the phone. The ringing at the other end abruptly cut off in mid third.

"Hello? Hello?"

A bit frantic, but at the same time the voice had the quality of someone trying to hide the fact that she was anxious.

"Um, hi!" Mikey said brightly. "See, you don't know me, but--"

CLICK

"Well?"

"She hung up on me!"

Raph bodily moved Mikey out of the way, fumbled with more change, and made the call himself.

A few rings, then: "Hello?"

"Harriet Tubman and Dolores Baker," Raph said without preamble. "The doc says to tell you he's alive and all right and in hiding."

Dead air-- Raph thought for a moment that she had hung up again, but then he heard a few deep, shuddering breaths on the other end.

"How do I know you didn't torture this out of him?"

Raph stared at the phone. Good question.

"Well, 'cause I would think that he'd have a way of givin' out a phony password," Raph replied. "That way, in case someone DID torture it outta him, then you'd know it because the phony one would be the warnin' one."

"Dude, that almost made sense," Mikey said, shivering close to his brother, trying to warm up by standing practically against him. "Ow!"

"So, we gave you the message. He says he'll contact again in a few days, but for the moment he's safe. He's lost his stuff, though," Raph continued. "He needs more supplies."

"He needs to go to the proper authorities! He needs to quit this stupid game! He needs to expose this mess to the press!" The woman's voice threatened to erupt into hysteria-- then Raph could hear her yet again take a deep, ragged breath.

"Okay. Where are you? I'll come over right now."

"Lady, are you nuts? It's freezin' and there's a storm about to start!" Raph protested. "He's fine right now, he just needs--"

"Where are you? I'll come over right now!"

"Nothin' doin' lady! You stay put! What makes you think no one won't follow you here?"

"Because I know, that's what, just like I know that this phone isn't bugged, and that you're using a scrambling device in case it IS bugged."

Raph stared at the phone again. What the--

"Who **are** you?" he finally asked. "How do I know that I just now didn't tell this guys enemies that he's alive?"

"You don't. Where are you?"

Now it was Raph's turn to hang up. He had suddenly gotten a bad feeling about the whole set up. Oh, he didn't think that she was Baker's enemy-- but she sure seemed to know more than she should.

"How did she know about the scrambling device?" Mikey chattered as they made their way towards the closest manhole cover. Raph had told him what the woman had revealed, and how she kept insisting that he tell her where they were.

"Donnie could answer that one," Raph said, bending down to pop the lid. "But I doubt you'd understand his explanation. As for me, I guess she must be pretty involved in that kind of work to-- What the hell? This damn thing is froze shut! Gimme a hand!"

Raph, glancing around, produced both sai, and handing one to Mikey, they proceeded to try to pry the stubborn lid up. After about ten minutes of cursing and struggling, they gave it up.

"Great. I'm so cold I can't even feel my tail, and we gotta find another way underground," Raph groused. Both looked in the direction of the apartments across the empty wasteland of abandoned fields just beyond the foundry, then in the opposite direction.

Though there wasn't much traffic, there still was traffic, and Raph and Mikey knew they couldn't risk getting closer to the human population to find a manhole that they could enter.

"L-l-lets move," Mikey suggested, as snow began to fall; the first flakes of the advancing storm. He indicated the street that ran closest to the abandoned foundry. "There's gotta be a cover there."

Raph nodded, and both of them buried themselves into their coats and made tracks, trying to jog in order to warm up. Both were feeling sluggish and Raph was debating calling Don for back up via the Battle Shell when the snow really started coming down.

"Great! At this rate we'll be diggin' through the snow to find a manhole cover!"

Wind, icy sharp, began to cut against their exposed faces. It swirled the snow, making it harder to see through the ever increasing fall of white flakes. Mikey instinctively took hold of Raph's coat, not wanting to lose contact with his bro. Raph had just about been ready to do the same.

Closer and closer they came to the foundry, until they were within easy reach of the jagged fence on its street side.

The snow was already accumulating in the street, but the steam rising from the manhole cover made it easy to find.

This one, too, was stuck, but Raph was not about to spend any more time above ground. Using his sai, he chipped around the edges, and scraped and pounded, and slowly he made progress against the stubborn melting and refreezing water that sought to prevent his entry.

Mikey, one hand clutching Raph's jacket, stared into the swirling mass, fascinated at the strange, ghostly images that they seemed to make. Faces seemed to form before his eyes, faces of long ago and of recent events. He knew it was his imagination, but it was almost as if he were being visited by spirits. Foot ninja. Hun. Zog.

Now the wind had a sound to it, and it added to the illusion of being surrounded by ghosts. _That guy in charge of the slaves when they were forced to fight in the arena-- what was his name? Oh, yeah! Gruel!_ Mikey laughed to himself, remembering Donnie's comment: _"Hey, look! Gruel is serving-- gruel"._ He could hear that guy's annoying voice in the wind, along with the threatening growl of Kluh-- _"Prepare for pain, turtle boy, lots and lots of pain"._

Damn it, Mikey, focus! You're gonna freeze stiff if you keep this up, and Raph will catch blame for it!

Much as that thought tickled the youngest turtle, he did not want to see any part of it come true. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on the real world. Though it was dark as night and the air was thick with blinding snow, he could just make out the outline of one of the nearer buildings in the old abandoned place. The jagged fence took on a life of its own even as it began to put on a thick, fluffy coat of white. Funny how even in the dark, the snow flakes still look white.

Mikey concentrated on staring at the fence and the building-- these things were rooted in the real world. They would keep him from being sucked into whatever fantasy his freezing brain would come up with.

"Ah HA!" Raph's triumphant voice cut through the vague thoughts Mikey was having, and Mikey could feel his brother moving away and down from him. He, too, moved on frozen feet to the entrance. Looking back again, he stared into the snow, remembering how it had started to mesmerize him with phantoms. A final one was taking shape before him-- large and dark and familiar and strange-- and suddenly, through a freak gust of wind that parted the snow like a curtain, Mikey found himself staring into those strange eyes again--

"MIKEY!" Raph's bellow, coupled with his hand firmly gripping the pants leg of Mikey's outfit and nearly yanking him off balance, snapped the turtle out of his trance. Blinking quickly, he stared hard into the storm, but now he couldn't even see the fence. "Mikey, get your ass down here NOW!"

Mikey scrambled down the ladder, nearly falling on Raph as his frozen hands lost their grip on the last few rungs.

It was dark and steamy down here-- must be near some hot water pipes or something-- but Raph managed to flick on his trusty flashlight, and they were out of the wind and the weather.

Mikey was temporarily blinded by the sudden glow as Raph aimed the light right into his face.

"What the hell were you doin'? I thought you froze to death for a moment!" Raph said, still a bit angry, but also concerned. Mikey had always been the most susceptible to illness from the cold. And Raph didn't like the look that was in his brother's eyes. "Mikey, what's wrong? You look like you seen a ghost."

"I-- I did," he muttered, and then refused to elaborate. "Trick of the snow. C'mon, let's get home." And he led the way, snatching the light from Raph for a moment before Raph snatched it back.

__

No way am I telling anyone what-- or who-- I saw he thought to himself.

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She knew where they'd called from. It hadn't taken her long to trace the number and then locate the phone booth. But the storm had started before she could suit up and head out.

"Damn!" she muttered, staring out the window, while the news people reported on this latest weather system that threatened to paralyze the city. "Well, no one will be able to do anything about him at the moment."

She reluctantly sat down and flipped the channel to a movie. She would have to wait, like everyone else.

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"Master Splinter!" Raphael's voice reached Splinter in the kitchen, where the Rat was overseeing Donatello's attempts to make dinner. So far it had gone smoothly, and nothing had burned or exploded. At the sound of Raphael's call, Splinter motioned his other son to follow-- first making sure everything was turned off!

Mikey was leaning on Raph. The cold had not left either one of them, not even with the action of moving, and it had taken a lot of Raph's effort to keep Mikey from going into what they laughingly referred to as "hibernation". Don and Splinter had them both on the couch within seconds, and Don had rounded up towels to dry the melted snow off of them as well as blankets to wrap them in.

Splinter was pressing hot tea on both of them, and had rummaged out the old, reliable hot water bottle. Wrapping it in a towel, he had Michelangelo hold it against his plastron.

Now Leonardo joined them, bringing the little space heater from his own room and setting it up close to the other two.

"We got careless," was Raphael's response to Splinter. "We took our time, but we misjudged the storm. We didn't wanna make the call anywhere close to April's or Casey's or here. It's my fault we went so far."

"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-no," Mikey shook his head (both voluntarily and involuntarily). "Mine-- I took too long--"

"It is not important," Splinter stopped them both. "You erred on the side of caution, that is all. I understand. What do you think, Donatello? Hot baths?"

"Yes, Mikey first," Don, finishing his examination of his brothers' feet and hands, got up to draw the bath. "No frost bite, but Mikey's feet are literally icy cold to the touch. Come on, Mikey! Bath time!"

"C-c-can I have a b-b-bubble bath?"

"No, 'cause I want a hot bath after you," Raph snorted, "and I don't wanna smell like Mr. Bubbles the rest of the night."

Splinter now turned to Leonardo.

"I want you to inform Dr. Baker that dinner is ready," he said, fixing Leonardo with a mild gaze that held the silent message that he was to be obeyed. Leonardo merely nodded, and went to Don's room where the human was staying.

"I will bring your food out here, my son," Splinter told Raph, who's tough guy attitude did not fool his father. Splinter knew that Raphael was just as bad off as Michelangelo, but he would not force the issue. Besides, they were too big to bathe together.

Leo managed to deliver the message in a voice that was neither dripping with hatred or frosty with coldness. Then he returned to the living room and sat with Raph.

"Well?"

Raph told him of the conversation. Don appeared as he wound down.

"She knows how to trace calls herself," Don said at the end of the story. "She knew about the scrambler-- she must have a working knowledge of all of those types of things. It's a good thing the storm started, she would have found where you called from at least."

"Yeah, I got that feelin' myself," Raph, downing his tea, nodded. "This lady is not what I expected-- I don't know why, but I got a feelin' about her..."

"She is a government agent," Baker said, interrupting their conversation. "She works for a group that would like to see the end of Bishop's organization. And she is a dear friend who would never betray me."

Three turtles stared at the man.

"But that makes no sense," Donatello pointed out. "If you can trust her, and she works for such a group, why are you hiding? Why not--"

"Because I can't! I can't explain it, but I just-- can't," he snapped, then calmed down. "I-- I just can't talk about it now. She won't betray me. She hasn't betrayed me all this time. I-- I just can't go to anyone right now-- no, never!"

He made as if he were going to return to Don's room. At the ladder, he turned and looked at the turtles.

"Thanks for what you did for me. I won't betray you."

And before they could react, he was out the door and into the tunnels, grabbing Mikey's jacket from the floor where it had been unceremoniously dumped.

"Fucking hell!" Raph bolted up from the couch, only to collapse on his weak legs. Leo took off into the tunnels, but it was too late-- Baker had scrambled up the first ladder he'd found, and disappeared into an upper tunnel. Leo knew that it would be difficult, but he tried to follow. But there were many exits from this one, and the man was determined.

Ten minutes later his shell cell rang.

"Any sign of him?" Splinter's voice came through the device.

"No, Sensei. I'm looking, but I lost his trail. He was very determined. I get the feeling that he had his escape route planned, but that's impossible. We blindfolded him when we brought him here."

"You are forgetting whose room he has been staying in," Splinter sighed.

Leo paused, then closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"He had access to Don's laptop."

"Yes, and it was no problem for him to locate the maps of the tunnels," Splinter confirmed. "Your brother is even now changing his passwords and readjusting the perimeter alarms. I am afraid that you will not find this man, my son. Come home for now."

"Hai, Sensei," Leo said, hanging up. _Damn! If only I hadn't been so stupid! I should have insisted that he stay in someone else's room. I knew we were going to keep him, but-- damn!"_

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Swirling snow! Beautiful-- yes, that is the word, beautiful! Cold, cold, cold as the grave yet beautiful beyond all description!

He stood in the storm, seemingly impervious to the cold for the moment. His companions were buried deep under the buildings, huddled and warm against this cold yet beautiful phenomena!

Shapes! Shapes and sounds filled the air. The flakes and the wind combined, conspired with each other to put on a show of memories for him.

The man in the black coat and glasses-- he had forgotten him. There was pain when he thought of this, but for once it was not bad, not crippling-- was he getting better? He focused on that face, now being created by the snow and the wind. He could hear the voice of the man, sneering and prideful: "Handsome devil, even if I do say so myself."

The green man-- no, not man-- animal-- animal of some kind, green, hard back, carried weapons-- pain-- book-- painpainpain--

And in the swirling snow, he was suddenly face to face with the green animal of his memory!

"**Mikey!**" another had shouted.

Mikey-- almost the name he remembered-- almost remembered--

The pain stabbed him right between the eyes, but he refused to allow it to cripple him! He was strong! He would not allow this to cripple him! He would not!

He made his unsteady way back to his nest, where his particular companions immediately welcomed him and began to warm him.

To comfort him against the pain.

But this time, he would not let it cripple him!


	23. Chapter 23

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Okay, I know, I should never have started this if I wasn't going to keep updating it regularly. I am trying to be better. I really am! Promise!

OOOH! EDITED! I forgot to thank Splinter for not only beta work but for suggesting the phone scene-- I was stuck with my Leatherhead/Baker meet up, and she thought that the phone scene might be a good idea-- and she was right! She is truly the Goddess of Ninja Turtles! (bows to Splinter!)

TMNT do not belong to me; they belong to Mirage. Dr. Baker, for as long as he lives, belongs to me.

**Calvary**

"I don't think he can get above ground," Raph, waiting for his turn in the bath tub, said through briefly chattering teeth. He clamped down hard on the traitorous dental appendages, embarrassed that they had betrayed his "weakness". He hated to admit it, but he was hurting and freezing and growing rather pissed at the length of time Mikey was taking. But he couldn't really complain; Mikey had been worse off.

Still...

"We had a hard time gettin' the lid off," Raph continued, fidgeting on the couch under his blanket, shivering under control now. "And that storm is packin' some real power. There ain't no way Baker can get topside."

"No kidding," Don said, turning away from the news reports that were telling of a virtual shutdown of the City. "It's accumulating quickly. Even the snowplows are stuck. The streets are buried already under at least a foot of snow. And I've been studying Baker's possible escape routes. So far he hasn't set off any of the outer perimeter alarms. I'm thinking he has already started going in circles. But my biggest concern is one particular route he had as a choice. It leads right to Leatherhead's place."

Leo looked up, startled. It had not occurred to him that the scientist might be running into their Crocodile friend. He recalled Baker's earlier words: _"Even when I was presented with the living specimen of a mutated Crocodile-- even when he spoke to me, stared at me with those eyes that reflected intelligence and understanding and fear--"_

"He's a dead man for sure if Leatherhead sees him and recognizes him," he said, surprised at his own concern. "Remember? He was one who experimented on him."

Splinter sighed, frustrated. It had not been his intention for them to go out into the freezing tunnels to find this man. He had trusted that Donatello's security measures would be enough to alert them to this man's location, as well as protect them from anyone actually finding their way to them.

But this news meant that they were going to have to find this man and find him quickly.

He looked at his three sons. How could he do this without breaking his parental rules? Raphael was too weak; Leonardo was still obliged to have a tagalong when he went out of the Lair, and the only one who could do that was now grounded by the Rat as well.

"Leonardo, you must go after this man," Splinter decided, frowning. "You must at the very least go to Leatherhead's place and try to explain things-- or keep him from killing this man."

Leo was secretly and childishly pleased-- temporary freedom! AND he would not have to have Don with him. Raph was too weak as well! Freedom! PERMISSION and FREEDOM!

His loving brother, however, couldn't let it lie.

"Master Splinter," Donatello hastily interrupted his older brother's silent glee. "He's going to need... help. And he is still technically--"

"Yes," Splinter interrupted sharply. "I do not need to be reminded of his current situation, Donatello. Though you do have a valid point."

Don smiled while Leo frowned, silently cursing the brainy turtle. But Don ignored the evil look his brother was favoring him with. He was going to get to go to Leatherhead's after all! This was a stroke of luck, no doubt about it! He'd be able to drop off a few quick notes and maybe get a tiny bit of work done before Splinter could reimpose his unfortunate and completely unfair grounding! He was smiling in self congratulations when his father dumped cold water on both Turtles' plans.

"I will go with Leonardo," Splinter smiled upon his son. "You will take care of Michelangelo and Raphael. Speaking of, I believe that Michelangelo has had enough time in the tub. Raphael is in need of his hot bath, and then they are both to have something hot to eat and put to bed."

"PUT to bed?" Raph burst out-- though he had been laughing quietly at both of his brothers. He had particularly been enjoying Don's predicament; payback for his brother's amusement at his and Leo's months of punishment. But Splinter's choice of words sharply reminded him just how much of a "father" he could be. "Sensei, we're not little kids ya know."

"You are MY 'little kids'," Splinter replied, getting his stick. "Do as I request. Leonardo, come."

And the rat walked out without looking back.

Don stared, slack jawed, at the retreating back of his father, wondering if he dared to ask that at least one of them take his notes to Leatherhead, pride struggling with practicality.

Leo, also, watched his father, wondering if it would be prudent-- or even worth his while-- to suggest that they split up to search for this man.

"Boy, I could sure go for some popcorn about now," Raph's voice, full of humor, cut through the stunned silence of his brothers. They both saw their shivering brother, grinning at them despite his coldness, laughing at them despite the pain he was in.

Don, with a rueful shrug, headed to the bathroom to roust out Mikey and get the tub ready for Raph.

"Leonardo! Let us go!" Splinter's voice drifted back into the Lair from the tunnel. Without a word, Leo sprinted after his father.

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Well, stupid! You've managed to get yourself lost in these endless tunnels. You can't get out because the manhole covers you've found are impossible to shift. You're freezing. You've fallen into the sewer water several times, no knowing what sort of diseases you've managed to pick up. And all because you continually think you know what's best.

Baker sank to the floor of the current dark tunnel and sighed. He knew that he hadn't been at this long, but it seemed like forever. He was half-convinced that he was going in circles. The lighting here was not the best. The smell was indescribable, but he had begun not to notice it, as the shivering had set in.

It had done him no good to grab the jacket of the one turtle-- he had almost immediately fallen into one of the channels and had managed to soak it and his pants legs.

His hands were numb with the cold, yet hurt at the same time.

He had tried to push the lid off of a few manholes, but after the third one he came to the realization that the weather was against him. The faint sounds of the storm above had finally penetrated even his stubborn resolve, and now he was wondering what the hell he was going to do.

Why had he run? He had thought perhaps that the Turtles would be the ones to help him-- had indeed helped him where those Ninja were concerned-- but something had made him run-- fear? Doubt?

It wouldn't be the first time that this strange urge to flee had come upon him. He just never could figure out why.

__

Why don't you go to the authorities? If she works for the other group, why not go to them?

Why not, indeed.

"What am I doing to myself? Why am I doing this?"

He gave himself up to misery for a few moments, and wallowed in what he felt was well-deserved self-pity. Then he wiped his face, took a deep breath, and rose up.

__

I'll keep going. I'll keep going until I find a way out, or find my way back to the Turtles-- or until I drop. No sense in trying to backtrack. I should keep an eye out for their security system. I know they have one-- why didn't I think to discover what they might look like? I could set one off and at least they'd know where to find the body...

He headed deeper into the tunnels...

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Don was in the kitchen, finishing up the preparations for Mikey and Raph's hot meals (as ordered by Sensei) when he heard the phone ring.

"Hello? L.H.!" Mikey's voice drifted, cheerful, into the kitchen, pulling Don away from the stove, where the soup was heating, and into the doorway, where he could see Mikey, well-wrapped in a blanket, speaking on the cordless. "Don? No, he can't come to the phone... grounded... yep, he was getting too much enjoyment out of Leo's problems with Splinter... yeah, it IS not how he normally acts, but you know--"

"Give me that phone!" Don snapped, making a move to grab the instrument from his younger brother. But Mikey, though still feeling the effects of his "turtleciccle experience", though wrapped like a mummy in that nice bulky blanket, was quick-- so quick that Don actually stood there, momentarily dumbfounded, staring at his own empty hand, then looking to where Mike had "magically teleported" himself at least five feet away from Don, all the while chatting with the Crocodile as if nothing strenuous was taking place. His blanket didn't even look disturbed!

"Yeah... yeah... well, I tried to warn him, you know, but Don thinks he is so clever... yeah, I hear that! Really? I had no idea! How do you keep from getting angry with him?"

All the while, Don's hands were a blur trying to snatch the receiver from Mikey, who just as quickly avoided each and every attempt-- and managed to trip Don, sending him falling into the couch!

This did NOT improve Don's temper.

"MIKEY!" he shouted, once again trying one of his many Ninja skills to wrest the phone from this annoying younger brother, only to once again fail! _What the hell... how can he move so fast?_

"Yeah, he's trying right now to grab it away. But Raph told me that Splinter grounded him, and he's not even allowed to talk to you on the phone..."

"Mikey! Give me that phone! It's important! I have to speak with him!" Don kept insisting, stubbornly attempting and repeatedly failing to secure the device from his sibling.

"Yeah... yeah... well, ever since the guys nearly died, Don's been acting all weird and stuff... honestly, sometimes it's like he is..."

"Michelangelo! I will personally destroy your Battle Nexus Trophy!" Don raged at the top of his voice, moving towards the item in question and snatching it from the top of the TV, and threatening to drop it-- but Mikey kept up his cheerful chatter, completely ignoring his brother.

"Grrrr!" Don slammed the trophy down; Mikey knew that he wouldn't do it.

The struggle continued. It was at times violent, and yet Michelangelo, Battle Nexus Champion and almost frozen Turtle, was able to keep the phone away from his brainy and much healthier brother.

"Well, it's good you called, 'cause we were going to call you," Mikey continued the conversation even as Don made yet another failed attempt to get that phone away from him. "Sensei and Leo are on their way over to your place. See, we saved this guy from the Foot, and you'll never guess who it is! It's that scientist that Hun and them were looking for earlier..."

"Michelangelo! Give me that--!"

"... yeah, you know, the guy in that photo badge... yeah! We were surprised, too! Are you okay? You sound a little strained... sure? I guess I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that..."

"MICHELANGELO!"

"... well, he was here, and then for some reason he bolted... L.H.? Are you sure you're okay? Really? 'Cause I feel like I upset you, and it's probably 'cause I wasn't thinking... me and Raph nearly froze to death earlier... yeah, got caught in the blizzard... No, we're fine now... Raph's in the tub, and Don is supposed to be fixing us something hot to eat... hold on..."

Mikey, in the midst of playing "keep away" with his ever angrier brother, sniffed the air, a frown on his face.

"Uh, Don-- do you smell something burning?"

Donatello froze in mid-grab, a sudden understanding dawning on his angry countenance.

"HEY!" Raph shouted from the bathroom. "What's goin' on out there? Smells like somethin's burnin'! You didn't scorch the soup, did ya, Brainac?"

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Leatherhead stared at the specially designed receiver that Donatello had provided him with. His size prevented him from using the much smaller regular devices, though he was very dexterous when it came to using fine tools and such. But the phone had been a hard item for him to use, not just because of his size but his overall head shape. Donatello had, after much thought and planning, made a phone and receiver suitable for a large mutated crocodile to easily use.

__

"Sensei and Leo are on their way over to your place. See, we saved this guy from the Foot, and you'll never guess who it is! It's that scientist that Hun and them were looking for earlier..."

Baker... Dr. Baker... here... must keep... control...

He drew in several noisy breaths, trying to focus on the now, not on the horrible nightmare memories that threatened to overwhelm him, to take control of him, to set loose the "monster" that Baker-- and BISHOP-- had "freed" from Leatherhead's control!

__

"You are a MONSTER!"

The voice of Bishop sounded in his ears as if the hated man was standing beside him. Leatherhead, with a shocked gasp, dropped the phone, desperately looking around the room. He did not believe in ghosts. Michelangelo spoke of such things to him often, especially after he had begun planning his memorial for that poor creature that Bishop had created--

"Bishop is dead!" Leatherhead insisted to himself, forcing his memory to summon up the bloodied pulpy mess that had once been the hated special Agent Bishop; he could see the body, with Leonardo and Raphael standing over the mess, just as bloodied and battered but alive. "Bishop is dead!"

__

"Wonderful specimen! We will keep it alive as long as possible-- at least until we can capture those Turtles..."

Once again, the voice sounded as if it were in the room, as if the hated man was alive and gloating, egging Leatherhead on and on, reminding him of all the things he had done to him...

"NO! HE is DEAD!"

Honeycutt, in another part of the dwelling, was checking some information when he heard his friend bellow loudly about someone being dead-- and then he heard what sounded like a door slamming.

"Leatherhead?" he called, moving quickly toward the sound. The robot stopped, shocked by what he saw: the door was off the hinges-- that was the sound he'd heard.

But the phone-- the specially designed receiver that Donatello had so patiently worked on-- was crushed into many pieces.

And Leatherhead was no where to be seen.

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Splinter had decided that their best bet was to head directly for Leatherhead's place. Hopefully Donatello would take it upon himself to try to reach him by phone and warn him of their approaching visit, if not their visitor. It had not occurred to Splinter to order this; he only thought of it after they had left the lair.

He had made a mistake. He had let his concerns and his temper cause him to make a mistake.

As they traveled, Splinter suddenly stopped, sniffing. The air was freezing cold and seemed to increase the smell of the sewers more so than the summer heat did. The ventilation was being affected by the storm above. But through the usual smells, he thought he'd detected the scent of a human, as well as Michelangelo.

"The jacket," he mused to Leonardo. "He took Michelangelo's jacket. I can almost smell it."

"Then he is on a collision course with Leatherhead," Leo surmised, pushing ahead of his father and scouting the area for any telltale signs. "Maybe we should split up. We need to find him before Leatherhead does."

"If we split up, we stand less chance of preventing Leatherhead from doing any harm to this man," Splinter pointed out, easily passing his son and quickening his pace, keeping his nose working for any possible hint. "Let us continue together---"

A faint roaring bellow, followed by a terrified scream, echoed up the tunnel, freezing master and student in their tracks.

"Damn! Too late!" Leo took off as fast as he could, ears straining to follow the direction of the echo, Splinter on his heels. The tunnel emptied out into a junction, where the sound was magnified by the number of branches that also emptied into it. They stood there, frantically looking around, trying to decide which tunnel to take.

The bellow was louder now; it still echoed around the area, but Splinter, ears twitching this way and that, nose straining, pointing upwards, suddenly made a move to the immediate left.

"This way!"

Leo wasted no time in plunging into the tunnel right behind his sensei. Their feet splashed through the icy water, their breaths left puffy white trails behind them. Unseen water dripped continually on them, almost rain-like-- steaming water pipes were interacting with the cold air, causing such condensation that it was creating its own miniature water cycle--

"NO! PLEASE!"

Closer, still closer, running as fast as they could, miraculously not slipping or tripping, until they skidded to a halt in front of their goal...

"LEATHERHEAD! NO!" Splinter commanded in a terrible voice.

The Crocodile had the man by the throat and a leg, holding him up to his face, holding him up to his wide-open dangerous mouth...

... and then the mouth snapped shut!


	24. Chapter 24

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Yeah, I know, I'm late with this. Thanks all two of you who are still reading. I don't know why you are, but I am grateful.

Haiku by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)

TMNT are the property of Mirage. Baker and Grant are the property of me. "If I Only Had a Brain" is the property of its owners. When you multiply two "real" numbers, you get a "real" number, and this operation is the property of Closure...

**Contrition**

__

"I'd unravel ev'ry riddle

For any individ'le

In trouble or in pain

"With the thoughts you'd be thinkin'

You could be another Lincoln,

If you only had a brain."

The current assistant, registering the fact that someone was singing, froze in disbelief; that could NOT be who he thought it was.

Turning slightly from his computer screen where he'd been analyzing and reanalyzing their latest results, his eyes confirmed what his ears had told him. Baxter Stockman was indeed the singer.

Stockman seemed positively jolly. Engrossed in his work, he was carefully studying what was left of Bishop's brain. He had to admit, the body appeared as fresh as if he'd just died the gruesome death that the turtles had dealt him. Flesh showed no sign of decay or corruption; organs were intact, indeed had "healed" as it were, regenerating slowly but surely. It had been several months now, and the body had been quickly recovered before the underwater base had been destroyed and carried for some time before it could be put in the preserving tank, yet it looked as if Bishop had only recently died.

The brain was the most damaged. While it showed signs of renewal, Stockman still thought that Agent Grant was asking the impossible.

True, he had known of Bishop's unique make-up, of his mysterious past; he, indeed, had helped him with that one transfer of consciousness into a new body when the "old one" was breaking down.

But that was the thing-- consciousness.

"It's not going to work, you know," he addressed the assistant. "Oh, we may be able to bring-- this--" and he gestured one robotic arm at the body-- "back to life as it were, but as for bringing back Bishop?"

He shook his head; there were limits, even to Science. What Grant wanted bordered on the religious; a resurrection as it were, whole body, sound mind.

Lazarus, come forth!

"And I lack the qualifications for resurrecting the dead," he muttered to himself. "Well, at least **that** aspect of it."

And he returned to his work, leaving the assistant to once again question whether Stockman was a madman or the only sane person working for this organization.

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"The city is shut down, Mistress," her assistant reported. Karai, staring out of the window of her penthouse bedroom, did not need to hear such news when her eyes were witness to it all. Nothing could be seen except white. The nearest building to her own was but a ghostly illusion, and the sound of the storm could be heard even in her well-insulated room. "Our operatives have been called back to base. Everyone has reported in. Training is proceeding as ordered. And the weekly business report is ready for your review."

"Very well, Tanaka," she said, dismissing him without breaking her gaze from the window. After a hesitant moment, her tall, bald assistant bowed, leaving the reports on her bedroom desk as he left her room.

__

hatsu yuki wo kataki no yô ni soshiru kana

"First snowfall--

like my worst enemy

damn you!"

Well, it was not the first snowfall, but the haiku captured her feelings. This storm was like her worst enemy. She could not get the humiliation out of her mind, the humiliation at failing to bring back a man-- the defeat of her mission, the defeat of her superior numbers and highly trained Ninja at the hands of Leonardo and his family-- five mutated freaks against the might of the Foot!

__

oya niramu hirame mo kasumu hitotsu kana

"father's steady glare

another thing

in the mist"

Oroku Saki would have had her beaten. She deserved it, she knew it. She had failed miserably, bringing shame upon the honor of the great Shredder, who had raised her as his own, had trained her up to be more than this pathetic failure.

He would have had her beaten.

Though he, himself, had run up against them time and again, and had failed to destroy them...

__

oya mo kô mirareshi yama ya fuyugomori

"my father saw

this same damn mountain...

winter seclusion"

Yes, Issa may have meant a literal mountain, but to Karai, the turtles were the real view-- the turtles and the Foot's failure to deal properly with them!

With a sigh she turned from the window and walked into the living room, ignoring the business reports. They would wait. Going to the bookcase she retrieved a precious item, a most treasured gift from a father to a daughter.

Exquisitely and specially bound in rich leather with gold lettering, Karai carefully opened the book that held original haiku by the great Kobayashi Issa-- in his original calligraphy, the ink faded slightly but still clear and crisp. On the flyleaf of this specially made book was the writing of another person:

"To my daughter on the occasion of her acceptance into the Clan. You bring honor to your father."

Karai quickly closed the book; she did not want to stain the pages with her tears.

"Do you see, Leonardo?" she angrily spoke to her enemy as if he were before her. "Do you see how he loved me? And you took him from me! And I will take your father from you!"

Replacing the book, she left for the dojo, a plan already fomenting in her vengeful brain.

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Snow, swirling snow, and as it swirls it takes shape until he is staring into that strange, familiar gaze of his personal Ghost...

Which a sudden jerk Mikey woke up, blinking in momentary confusion. As his brain finally caught up with his body, he realized that he had dozed off on the couch, dinner untouched. Raph was next to him, equally bundled in blankets but eating his soup (and making several pointed comments regarding the scorched taste), while Don sat in Splinter's chair and tried to keep from killing his brother.

"Raph, I said I would make some more!"

"Why waste food? I mean, this is the third attempt. You've been through two cans of soup already."

"Raph--"

"I mean, jeeze, Don, why didn't you just stick it in the microwave?"

Embarrassed silence from the turtle who had been addressed; understanding dawning on the one who had asked the question.

"You nuked it, right?"

"Um, do you guys want some tea? Mikey, you need to eat something hot!" Don, trying to change the subject, chided his younger brother. "Splinter said you're to eat something hot and then go to bed."

Mikey eyed the bowl of canned soup distastefully, and not because his brainy brother had managed to burn it. Mike preferred homemade, and next to Splinter, no one could make good homemade soup except Mikey.

Though he had to admit, when Raph made soup the other week for him, following his recipe, it had tasted good...

"I'll just drink some tea and eat some toast," he opted, making to get up to help himself, but Don ordered him to stay put.

"I'll get it! I don't need you collapsing in the kitchen-- besides, knowing you, you'd find a way to fix something that would not be good for you to eat at the moment." Don hurried away.

Mikey eyed Raph, still eating his soup.

"How can you stomach that?" he asked. Raph shrugged.

"Used to it," he said. "Don ain't the only one who scorches the soup. Leo does a fair job of it as well. So do I for that matter, only I know how to hide the flavor."

"I always wondered about your famous 'Raphael's Worchester style Tomato Soup'," Mikey grinned, then proceeded to yawn, stretching mightily. In the process his blanket shifted, and an involuntary shiver ran through him. Though he had warmed up nicely, he was still not fully recovered. Neither was Raphael for that matter, but Raph was good at hiding such weaknesses unless they would net him some hot cocoa with all those tasty little marshmallows in it. Unfortunately, they were out of both at the moment.

"Go to bed, Mikey," Raph advised, slurping the last of his soup and picking up Mikey's bowl. "You need the rest."

"And you don't?"

"Nope! I'm the original Iron Turtle!"

"Iron rusts."

"Then I'm the Turtle of Steel."

"Steel rusts, too."

"Go to bed, Mikey!"

"Raph, do you believe in ghosts?"

Raph nearly choked on the soup. He eyed his brother critically; nope, Mikey had a sane-- well, a serious expression on his face. There was nothing of the goof ball about this question.

"Is this about that whole Victor thing again Mikey?" he finally asked, reaching one hand out to feel his brother's forehead. Mikey roughly knocked it away.

"Its only that while you were trying to get the manhole cover off, I thought I saw him-- there in the snowstorm."

Raph bit back several very natural Raph things to say. He put down the soup bowl and placed a hand on Mikey's shoulder.

"It's a hallucination; a snow mirage. That is all it is. Victor is dead, Mikey-- we all saw the body. He is dead, just like Bishop that fucking bastard is dead, and nothing is gonna bring either one of them back."

It was now Mike's turn to bite back several responses. He'd made these "what if" statements before, and they had always been explained away.

But what if Victor had lived...

"Go. To. Bed." Raph stood up, dragging Mikey with him off of the couch and pushing him toward the stairs. Mike reluctantly headed for his room, hesitating only once-- then sighing and continuing on his way.

He got into bed and snuggled under the extra blankets. He hated to admit it, but he felt tired and his feet still felt frozen. He remembered how Splinter used to put socks on their feet in winter to keep their toes warm, and he wondered if April could find him any that might fit him now.

Drowsily his mind turned to that place where the snow mirage had appeared.

__

What would it hurt to go check it out later? Once the storm stops, for example? Just for the heck of it, you understand, not because I expect to find anything there... like Victor...

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__

He was choking! His leg was being crushed, and his throat was held so tightly that he couldn't breathe. After that first scream, he'd been grabbed, and he was now unable to make any more noise!

Those teeth, coming closer! Those eyes radiating such hatred!

Oh, God! I'm sorry, I am so sorry! Please don't---

Baker awoke with a cry, breathing rapidly, heart pounding so loudly he could hear it rather than feel it. He looked around, dazed and confused; he was in a bed, covered with a large quilt, in a darkened room lit by one small candle.

Was he back in the Turtles' home? Had they found him?

Shivering, he got up, and saw that his clothes had been removed, and he'd been dressed in what was an extremely large sweat shirt and sweat pants! A giant must own these, they were so large. The shirt alone hung to his knees, and Baker was not a small man.

As soon as he started to move, the pants came tumbling down. With a hasty grab, he hauled them up, marveling yet again at the amount of material needed to make this outfit.

He looked around the chamber. Obviously someone's bedroom, but sparsely furnished, though it was cluttered with various books and scientific equipment like tubes, vials, wires, a couple of microscopes, and other items he couldn't identify in the glow of the one candle.

Voices. He could hear voices... one was definitely the voice of the mutate Rat. The other... deep, pleasant, very well-spoken... NOT one of the Turtles...

__

Curiosity is a bitch he ruefully thought, and he boldly made his way out of the open door and into a large chamber!

It looked like some old train station. Stairs led down from this level to the main floor; bits of furniture were scattered here and there. It was well-lit, and he could see countless activities going on, all revolving around Science! Noise, smells, bubblings, whistlings, whirrings, sounds of metal and of machinery... and voices.

"I am glad that we were able to prevent you from doing this deed," he heard the Rat say, and as he descended the stairs, he finally spotted the speaker. "I am sorry that we had to attack you like that however. I hope we did not hurt you too much."

"Not at all, Master Splinter," the deep, resonant voice responded. "I, too, am grateful! You have no idea how grateful I am that you prevented me from such a deed! I had thought that I had control of myself, but alas I was mistaken..."

"Uh, don't come closer!" Leo suddenly barked out, having spotted the approaching man. As he spoke, he leapt up from his seat to place himself between Leatherhead and Baker.

But Baker could not obey. Eyes filled with the sight of the giant Crocodile, he moved forward as if in a dream. Clutching the incredibly large sweatpants to him, he moved on numbed, bare feet, eyes never wavering from the huge reptile who had now risen from his own large chair and turned to fix this man with a glare.

Baker stared into those eyes-- those intelligent eyes--

He stopped, and fell to his knees.

"Please, forgive me," he quavered, unable to take his eyes from this being whose life he had tormented with his "scientific inquiry"; this being who had nearly bitten him in two. "Please--"

With a swift move that caught even Splinter off guard, the crocodile was past Leonardo and looming over the cowering man. His hands came down, he bent down to reach his former tormentor-- and gently helped him to stand, guiding him to the couch.

"We will discuss that later," he said, a cold note in his voice, but otherwise civilized and polite. "For now you must sit down and stay warm. You were drenched when I-- when I **found** you."

Baker could not take his eyes off of Leatherhead. It came rushing back to him; how close he'd been to being chomped in half by this creature-- no, this being! They are BEINGS, not CREATURES!

"So, I'm still alive," he murmured, even as L.H. grabbed a handy blanket and draped it around the scientist.

"Yes, you are still alive," Splinter sternly replied, as the giant crocodile resumed his seat. "For the moment. Do such a stupid thing again, and you will NOT be alive! I will NOT have my family and friends put at risk of discovery because of you!"

Now Baker's eyes ripped away from Leatherhead to take in the seriousness of the Rat's face even as his mind registered the depth of the threat. He saw that Splinter meant it.

"I am sorry I tried to leave. I've been on the run forever, trusting no one-- not even my closest friend, the one who has been helping me," he sighed, shivering slightly. "It's true, she works for a government group that would love to see Bishop's organization brought down, but... in the end, she **is** one of 'them'..."

"Bishop is dead," Leo flatly stated. "My brother and I killed him. Why stay in hiding?"

"Death is not the end of all our problems," he replied, staring at the floor.

"You must remain hidden," Splinter sensibly pointed out. "You are well-hidden here. The storm above ground shows no sign of letting up soon, and even when it does, it will be nearly impossible to go above ground for a short time. I must insist that you stay below ground with us!"

"I concur," Leatherhead said. "It is too dangerous-- for us as well as for you-- for you to go above ground for the time being. Many people are still looking for you. They know the spot where Splinter and his sons rescued you. They are a determined enemy, and will return as soon as possible to try to locate them-- and you."

"I still want to know why the Foot is after you," Leo said simply. "Karai herself was there-- what did she say to you? I know that she had you in her limousine. What did she say?"

"Only that her organization had been recruited to locate me; that her brother's group as well had been looking for me. She wanted to know WHY everyone seemed to want me. She didn't want to turn me over to anyone who could use my knowledge to attack her group. That is all she said."

"More questions," Leo muttered, pacing the floor. "Karai went to a lot of expense and trouble; that place her spies were staying in was well-stocked and up to date. I thought I would have to fight Don to keep him from raiding the place."

All the while the crocodile stared at the man, eyes reflecting nothing of his emotions, yet still containing that "intelligent" look rather than the cold reptile eyes of a mindless killing machine.

"We can not allow any of these people to have this man," Splinter stated yet again, then turned to the scientist. "We can not let you leave, Dr. Baker. If you wish to consider yourself our prisoner, I can not stop you, but until we discover an answer to this problem, you MUST stay with us, willing or no."

Baker sighed, realizing the truth behind these words; for their safety more than his...

"He may stay with me and Professor Honeycutt," L.H. suddenly cut in, eliciting a shiver of fear from the scientist. "You will be safe here-- and you will be safe from me. I pledge this. I have yet to forgive you. I may never get to that point in my life. But you will be safe here."

And, God help me if I try to leave, Baker thought to himself, wondering if he were finishing the sentence for the crocodile.

He nodded his thanks, shifted on the couch.

"May I... May I ask a question?" he finally said, breaking the short silence that had followed his agreement to stay with Leatherhead.

L.H. inclined his head.

"Where did these clothes come from? They're so..."

"Large? Yes. I need large clothes to keep warm," L.H. responded without a trace of embarrassment. "Those pants you are wearing are new-- I've not had the chance to alter them to accommodate my tail. And Professor Honeycut does not wear clothing--"

Baker looked up, startled. Was this crocodile rooming with a nudist?

At that moment, Honeycutt walked in, and Baker, who thought he had finally seen it all, realized that he had not even seen a tenth of it all...

"Hello, Dr. Baker," Honeycutt politely spoke, offering his robotic hand to the human. "I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance ..."

Baker felt the room spin just a bit, then he felt as if he were sagging backward on the couch.

Dimly he heard the robot speak again.

"Oh, dear... was it something I said?"


	25. Chapter 25

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Um... Hi... anybody here? Sorry about the length of time. I won't make lame excuses. Besides, I was sworn to secrecy about my special training sessions with Splinter...

...um... oops!

TMNT are the property of Mirage. Nice to see that 4Kids is finally running this past seasons episode in the correct order.

**Clarigate**

No one caught cold this time, though Raph complained of headaches-- brought on by being cooped up with Mikey, who spent all of his free time thinking of ways to annoy his brother.

Don buried himself in work, and though he could not go to see Honeycutt and Leatherhead, Splinter had at least allowed him a way to send and receive information back and forth-- though he was still grounded from the Internet and the phone.

Unfortunately, that way was to have Leonardo play messenger boy. Don was not pleased at the situation-- well, to be honest, he was sort of pleased at the situation, when it came to Leo's continued "problems" with Splinter!

"You have been after me to allow you to travel out by yourself," Splinter had calmly said to the irate "leader" when he had told Leonardo of the plan. "This is your first chance to prove yourself to me. Straight to their place and back again."

"Sensei, I need to go patrol outside! We must know if our enemies are nearby, now that the storm is over!"

"Of course you may patrol outside-- as soon as you return, Michelangelo and Raphael will be ready, and the three of you may--"

Leo cut his father off with an impatient gesture, and then yelped as the walking stick caught him a sharp one on the offending wrist!

"Sorry, Sensei," he bowed, rubbing the spot where the stick had connected with bone, grateful for even the slightest protection the wristband afforded-- that had smarted!

Don had laughed at that. But Leo paid him back in full, messing up the verbal exchanges (Don quickly learned to write everything down after that first time); accidentally "dropping" items in the sewers-- easily replaceable items, but Don was convinced that his brother was setting him up for the time when he decided to drop something that could NOT be so easily replaced; and "forgetting" some vital piece of information or equipment that made it necessary for him to have to go back for (or return for, depending on his mood), and delaying Don's work even further.

Leo, Mike and Raph started patrolling at night once the storm's aftereffects had finally let up and they could get out of the sewers. Careful to not leave tracks, they could not believe the amount of snow in the area. It had been a record fall this time, and the city was slowly coming back to life after nearly a week of wicked weather. Rooftops were drifted high with the stuff in some places, while others seemed scoured of every trace. Side streets were still choked with the stuff, made worse by the accumulation of whatever had been scraped by the snowplows along the main streets. Snow removal was slow, slow, slow-- but it was getting done.

At the warehouse area, the Foot had left no trace of their previous "look out" place. All the equipment was missing-- including Don's ingenious spy cam.

"Great!" Raph grumbled after a fruitless search. Since there was no evidence that it had been destroyed, they had to assume the worst. "I hope that thing can't lead them back to us. And Mikey, I am so warning you to drop that snowball!"

"Spoilsport," the younger turtle replied, dropping the perfectly round, large and well-packed sphere off the side of the building.

Leo stood on the corner of the roof, gazing down at where the fight had taken place. He could still "see" her in his mind: dressed as she used to, katanas in hand, waiting and watching as he fought her soldiers. The red headband that fluttered like a ribbon behind her jet-black hair, a symbol of her position as well as a stylish adornment.

He had wanted to engage her, but distance and Foot had made it impossible. She had watched him with hatred-- and admiration. She had watched him with growing anger as he easily dealt with her many Ninja, waiting for him to come engage her in combat.

He had wanted to engage her, but Raph had gotten there first.

__

Raph spotted Karai standing there, watching the humiliation of her Foot, and his smile was bigger than it was last Christmas.

"Karai!" he bellowed. The woman turned swiftly, scanning the area-- her eyes landed on him; even from where he was, in the gloom of the night, he could see the hatred burning in her eyes. He grinned even wider, stepping out into the open, taunting her.

"Karai!" he yelled again, with a laugh in his voice as he beckoned to her. "Kocha koi!"

Raph had been the one she had attacked that night, not Leo; and Raph had been the one to knock her on her--

Leo needed to engage her, to fight her, to make her pay for all she was doing to him-- and his family. He needed to--

BAP!

The snowball caught him square in the back of the head! Packed hard, large, it stung as if it had been ice, and the rapidly melting chunks slid down his neck and into those annoyingly hard to reach places between skin and shell, causing all sorts of unpleasant sensations.

"Jeeze, Leo, you really musta been out of it," Raph couldn't help laughing. "You let Mikey sneak up on you like that? Good thing it wasn't Karai, you'd be--"

He choked off the rest of his words at the deadly gaze of his brother. And then he got mad at himself. Since when did he let Leo intimidate him?

But there was something this time in his look...

"Let's get out of here," Leo said, leading the way. Frankly, he hoped to leave the two of them far behind, but he knew that doing so would only earn him more punishment from Splinter. Quickly he made his way from rooftop to rooftop, dropping down to street level here and there when distance was too great or the roof was too icy for jumping safely from ledge to ledge. Right behind him were Raph and Mikey, keeping up though never fully catching up.

Silhouetted against the clear, cold night sky, the three made their way through the city in a strange sort of "Follow the Leader"-- but with Raph and Mike having no clue as to their destination, much less the purpose of this run.

Their breaths left vapor trails that vanished quickly, but sometimes it was the only clue the two had as to Leo's location.

"He's doing his best to lose us," Mikey observed once. Raph nodded in agreement, a mirthless smile on his face.

"And when he **does**, then **we** go home and wait for the fireworks," Raph replied.

"Hope Don has some popcorn left."

On and on the "run" went. And all the while, Leo's thoughts were on the white-hot anger that had flashed from Karai's eyes that night. His mind was full of the image of her lithe yet well-muscled body dressed in black; her slender hands gripping the handles of her katanas, knuckles white with the pressure; those red lips parted in anger.

Why was she filling his thoughts? She filled them most sleepless nights, when the shoulder wound she had given him ached in some phantom memory, or when he'd catch sight of the scar, slight yet visible-- a constant reminder of her treachery.

And yet, upon their return, she had declared a truce. And he, in his preoccupation with his plans for Bishop, had believed her; had trusted her; had gone to her for information;

Had forgiven her.

__

All that stands between us...

"Leo!" Mikey's voice finally snapped through his thoughts, and Leo realized that he was on a rooftop just across from the "memorial library" of Oroku Saki. Turning he saw his brothers one building behind him. Mikey had taken a chance on calling out; there were Foot standing in the shadows on certain parts of the building in question, keeping a not very careful watch.

At least his mind had NOT allowed him to be exposed to his enemies. He had kept to the shadows, better hidden (he hoped) than the guards around the library.

Within seconds the other two had joined him in the shadows, thin, ghostly wisps of "steam" rising from their skin as the heat of their bodies came in contact with the icy cold air surrounding them as they stood still.

"Are you out of your freakin' mind?" Raph immediately chewed his older brother out in a fierce whisper. "We're supposed to be patrolling, not looking for trouble!"

"Since when were you afraid of looking for trouble?" Leo couldn't help saying, rather put out by Raph's attitude.

"Since we're one turtle down-- two by the looks of you!" he shot back. "You been actin' like your mind's someplace else tonight. I don't like the idea of fightin' anyone while you're so distracted!"

Leo felt a red-hot flame of anger start up in his chest. Who the hell was Raph to say such things?

"I am NOT distracted!"

"Uh, guys..." Mikey tried to cut in, but no one was listening.

"Yeah-- and now, come to think of it, I bet I know what's distractin' you," Raph insisted, an idea dawning on him. "You been thinkin' about **her**! That's why we're out here! You're hopin' to catch a glimpse of Karai!"

"Guys!"

"I need to find out what she's up to!" Leo defended. "She is after that guy. She wants payback on our family, and I can't allow that to happen!"

"You're HOT for her! She fucking stabbed you with your own katana, and you're HOT for her!" Raph accused.

"She is our enemy!" Leo's voice rose in angry denial of his brother's accusation. "We have to be prepared against her! We--"

"GUYS!"

"What?" both of them snapped at Mikey, turning to face him-- and then they saw "what".

They were surrounded on the roof by roughly a dozen Foot.

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Leo stood before Splinter in the dojo, weapons gone, head bowed, fresh bandages covering various cuts.

On the floor, Raph, Mike, and Don (sans popcorn-- after all, this was the dojo) sat, waiting for the show. Mikey, sporting a freshly stitched shoulder wound, looked rather sympathetically at his older brother. He was not looking forward to what was about to happen, though he did feel that Leo deserved some of it.

Raph, nursing a wicked bruise that closed his left eye and covered a large portion of his face, shifted the ice pack in the towel before replacing it to his injury. Despite having only the use of one eye (temporarily), the Turtle's feelings could be clearly read in it-- he was so going to enjoy this.

Don, coming down from the adrenaline rush of having to deal with wounded brothers, was struggling not to show any emotion whatsoever. He could feel the anger emanating from Splinter earlier as they had worked on the wounded in the infirmary, and he was not going to let any of it spill over onto him! He wanted off grounding, not more.

They had won, naturally, but the fight had alerted Karai and the Foot to their presence. Reinforcements had been swift in coming, and they had spent a good deal of the rest of the night losing their pursuers. Finally the Foot had to admit that the turtles had escaped, and gave up the chase. But it wasn't over, not by a long shot.

Splinter, dried blood still in his fur and on his robe from cleaning and stitching the wicked yet shallow sword wound in Michelangelo's shoulder, stood there, staring at this oldest son. Only the slight quivering of his whiskers and the flicking of the tip of his tail showed his anger. It was taking all of his willpower to master himself before dealing with Leonardo. He did NOT wish to act while so emotionally raw, but this had to be dealt with now.

"_Zonzai_!" he snapped, hitting the dojo floor with his cane for emphasis, causing all four to jump, startled at the loud crack. Leonardo flinched at the word, perfectly true-- he **had** been careless. "Have I taught you nothing? Have I wasted my time with you? Have I failed? The fault must be in the Master, since the student keeps acting so!"

"Sensei, I--"

"Silence! I have heard your story and your apology! I wish to hear no more! What am I to do with you, Leonardo? Do you think I enjoy having to punish you?"

__

Yes, he thought to himself. _Yes, you certainly do-- lately._

"I am growing frustrated with your willful behavior. You put yourself and your family at risk-- again! Your obsession with this woman is becoming a liability, a liability we cannot afford!"

"With respect, Sensei, I am not obsessed with Karai," he carefully replied. "I do not trust her. She is after this scientist. I need to know why. We are now standing between him and his would-be captors, and I want to know the reason."

"You are making excuses," Splinter shook his head. "You are not interested in this Baker or his safety. You are only interested in this woman. I cannot understand, my son! Why do you do this to yourself and to your family?"

But Leo would NOT admit to such things. What did they know of his feelings? What did any of them know of his thoughts?

"I need to know what she is planning," he replied simply. "I need to be ready for her. I need to be ready to fight her!"

"You need to attend to my orders! You need to attend to your training, and to your healing!"

"I am healed!" he shouted, suddenly unable to contain himself. "I am healed through and through and yet you treat me as if I were just risen from my death bed! I-- AM-- HEALED!"

Why Splinter did not slap him then and there was an immediate mystery to the three on the floor-- as well as the one standing across from him. For a moment it was hard to judge who was more surprised by the childish outburst as well as the lack of reaction-- Leo or his brothers.

Splinter seemed unfazed by the show of emotion.

Mikey, however, could tell by Splinter's tail that something was coming, something worse than a slap for insolence. It had gone perfectly still; more than when it twitched, Splinter's tail staying perfectly still was a warning sign of monumental proportions.

Splinter moved to the weapons rack, retrieved two bokken, and tossed one to Leonardo. Then he went on guard.

"My son," he said calmly, though the hard glint in his eye told a different story. He beckoned with one hand. "Kocha koi."

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"... and then Splinter handed Leo his tail on a platter," Raph said to Casey later. He and Mikey were sitting in the kitchen of Casey's place, eating pizza and drinking beer and catching their friend up on all that had been happening to them recently.

"Dude, I don't get Leo lately," Casey snorted. "I mean, I can understand that he's been pissed 'bout Splinter's keepin' him on a short leash, but ya'd think Leo'd be smart enough to go along with it and earn his freedom, like you did."

"Yeah, well, somthing's different about him lately," Raph, snagging another slice of pizza, said. "He's been broodin' over Karai lately. We run up against her, and since then its added to his moodiness. Seein' her like that I mean."

"So, what's the damage this time?"

"Grounded to the Lair for two more weeks, no trips above ground except with Splinter, and he took his katana from him as well. He can't even practice with them."

"Harsh! So, wanna watch the game?"

Mikey, unusually quiet, merely listened, but he really wasn't paying much attention. His planned memorial ceremony for Victor was less than a week away, and April had said that this time it had damn well better take place, or the next flowers she ordered would be for HIS memorial service.

The box containing the _shinishozoku_ was sitting on the chair next to him. He had opened it to take a look, but hadn't tried it on yet, saving that for when he got home and Splinter could tell him if he had put it on right. Casey had picked it up for him from April's where it'd been since his illness. If there was anything wrong with it, it was too late to fix it. They'd been so busy with other things that Mike had not had a chance to pick it up earlier, and April (also busy) never seemed to find the time to drop it off at the Lair.

So white. The material was so white-- like snow, really. He could not recall ever seeing material that looked so white, not even some of April's stuff.

So white.

As he sat there, staring at the white fabric, he suddenly recalled with startling clarity the face that had loomed out at him in the snowstorm.

The noise of the game on tv, the good-natured arguing of Casey and Raph was background music to his thoughts-- and yet, his thoughts weren't conscious ones. He stared at that _shinishozoku_ and remembered all the "sightings" of Victor he'd been experiencing.

__

Fever dreams; tricks of the snowstorm; Victor is dead. Get over it!

He glanced at the calendar again. He had time. It was too late today, but tomorrow he had time.

He was going to that abandoned place where he and Raph had made the phone call, and he was going to check it out. He would prove to himself that he had been seeing things.

He would prove that it was only a ghost.


	26. Chapter 26

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Ah, another update so soon! I must do them while the inspiration lasts!

TMNT are the property of Mirage, but once when I was driving through Utah, I met this hitchhiker who told me his name was Peter Laird, and I didn't really believe it, but he said 'cause I was so nice as to give him a lift, that one day I would own all his rights to the Turtles!

**Catena**

"Leonardo definitely was one of the three you encountered?" she asked, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Hai, Mistress Karai."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

The man reporting left, relieved. She had not been as upset as they had imagined she would be at their failure to capture the turtles. But they would be on extra alert. The fact that they'd been surrounded and outnumbered and yet had made short work of the twelve who had originally engaged them would not make for many happy training sessions. Still, no one was ordered killed, and that was something.

Karai, wrapped in a loosely fitting robe, turned her eyes to her assistant.

"Your thoughts on this?"

He bowed.

"I do not understand their presence. I do not think it was a planned incursion, judging from the report that the one called Raphael was arguing with Leonardo. This is what alerted our guards to their being there."

Karai allowed a smile to cross her face at the memory of the report:

__

"They were arguing... forgive me, Mistress Karai, but they were arguing about... you."

"Me? Explain."

The Foot ninja swallowed a few times, trying to find his courage. He was nervous enough without having to repeat words he had heard.

"I am waiting!"

"The one in red accused the one in blue of being... of being..." -- deep sigh; braces self-- "HOT for you."

Karai sat there, wondering if this fool was looking for a quick death. Then she realized that he was speaking the truth; only an idiot would fabricate such a statement.

"Well, it is nice to think that I have caused dissent among the brothers," she smiled slightly. "And I suppose I should be flattered. Whatever else, at least Leonardo is exposing himself. It is too bad that they got away, but if they are roaming out again, then we have a chance of settling old scores. Alert everyone. I want them all-- alive if possible. I especially want the Rat!"

"Hai, Mistress," he bowed and left her alone.

She let the robe drop to the floor as she crawled back into bed, glancing at the clock-- only a few more hours and then she'd have to be up for training. Then a meeting with Chaplin to see how he was progressing with her plans to locate the home of the turtles. Then a business lunch with Hun of all people.

She closed her eyes, and smiled.

"Leonardo is 'hot' for me? That is the funniest thing I have heard in quite some time. I shall certainly share that joke with him, just before I kill him."

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Baxter entered the lab. It was too early for his assistants to be here, but it didn't matter. There was not much to do except check on the progress of the cloning process as well as monitor the activity of the brain.

Looking at the damaged organ as it floated in the small "healing tank" they had pieced together using Bishop's files, he marveled again at the stubbornness of Agent Grant in this process. The brain, though it showed signs of "healing", would never fully function.

__

"All we need to do is get it into good enough condition to transfer the consciousness into the cloned one," she kept insisting.

"Lady, it's been like this for months. There's not going to be any consciousness left to transfer. Don't you believe in a soul?"

"I'm surprised at you, Stockman! A man of science, discussing souls? How novel."

"Even Einstein believed in God."

"And you as well?"

Stockman stood in thought. Did he believe in God? Could he believe in a supreme being who allowed all the things that had happened to him to have taken place?

And yet here he was-- "alive" in a manner of speaking. His brain carefully preserved and fully functioning, operating this artificial body that he had created for himself, his existence was due to science pure and simple.

Or was it?

As he thought over his amazing tragedies and miraculous survivals, he was tempted to believe that Someone up there must be looking out for him; SOMEONE up there must care.

"Unless this is my Hell," he wryly mused, slightly chuckling. "This is my Hell, my own personal Hell, where I exist as this thing, taking orders, alive without being able to live, playing Dr. Frankenstein for some crazy woman who is trying to recreate the impossible."

The door slid open, and Agent Grant entered the lab.

"Speak of the Devil," Stockman could not help saying, turning his robotic body to meet her. "Good morning, Agent Grant. Lovely morning, isn't it?"

"You are in a cheerful mood," she observed, her face a mask of indifference. "Why does that not put me at ease?"

Baxter "shrugged", his holographic face expressing slight amusement at her words.

"What is the progress?"

"Well, I believe that another forty-eight hours is needed before we attempt to stimulate the brain to see if activity is possible," he said, bringing up the current readings on one of the many computer monitors for her to review. "Though I would be more confidant if we had access to the work of your intriguing Dr. Baker. Any word on that front?"

Grant made a face.

"One of our operatives reports that there was a disturbance at the waterfront some night before the blizzard hit," she reluctantly told him. "Apparently an organization you are no doubt intimately familiar with located and for a brief-- a very brief-- time, had the good Doctor in hand. And then there was a fight, and he was rescued as it were-- by those mutants."

Stockman did his best to keep his holographic face from registering his amusement at the tale. He had already heard it gossiped about in the lab by one of his technicians, who was a drinking buddy of the operative in question. Karai was playing "Shredder" evidently, and for some reason she and the Foot were after Baker as well.

The fact that the Turtles had been involved strangely did not surprise nor bother him. They of all parties involved would keep this man "safe" for the moment, and that would be a relatively good thing. Much as he would love to see if this project could be pulled off, he felt a strange sympathy for the scientist, forced to do others' bidding, no freedom to pursue one's own interests, and constantly under the threat of death.

"No matter," he found himself saying. "I'm sure he will surface shortly. I doubt he will want to stay in hiding for long, especially if you carry out your plans regarding his 'safe' person."

Agent Grant froze for a moment; who had been spying?

"I am sure I do not know what you are implying," she said carefully.

"Oh? My mistake. You know how it is, stuck here all day, exposed to the gossip of others while trying to concentrate on boring old work," he apologized, going back to the computer and studying the latest readings.

Grant studied the scientist, weighing his words carefully. Someone was going to pay once she found out who was spreading her business around.

She was the only person in the organization who knew of Baker's "safe" person. Or rather, she HAD been. Not even Bishop had known what she'd found out after months of exhaustive searching for the runaway scientist. She could have had him recaptured many times, but she had had her reasons for not acting on her information.

But now... now rumors were circulating. Great. Just great.

Her phone went off, putting a halt to her current train of thought.

"Speak," she said.

"You're wanted on the private line, Agent Grant," came the news. "Washington is calling."

Grant swore. More bureaucratic bullshit no doubt. Along with Bishop's position she had inherited a lot of his headaches, many of which dealt with funding and the huge amounts of red tape that went along with it.

"I'm on my way."

Without a backward glance she left the lab. Stockman allowed himself the luxury of a good laugh.

"Ah, sometimes I quite enjoy this place," he chuckled, going about his work.

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Foolish outsiders! Why do they keep coming? They must long for death!

He surveyed the remains of the two who had so carelessly allowed themselves to be trapped by him. They had come with weapons. They had come to "shoot some rats". They had come to kill his friends.

Now they fed his friends, fed them with fresh meat, the first they'd had in quite some time.

The fear of this place had spread, yet there were still those who came looking to prove something. And when those that escaped reported it to others, and many would come to snoop and pry and examine, they would find NOTHING!

His friends were quick to learn how to disguise their presence in this vast place. Under his guidance, they had quickly mastered the way of Invisibility when it came to surviving here.

The Way of Invisibility... where had he heard that expression? He could not recall ever hearing it before, not even in his previous life as-- as-- whatever he had been.

"Victor"

There was that name again-- at least the pain that usually went with it did not cripple him up into inaction. He was mastering the pain of memory finally.

His gaze returned to the leftovers. Soon they would have to hide the evidence. Bodies tended to draw the attention of others, and as powerful as he and his friends were, they could not cope with others when they came in large numbers.

He went outside and stood in the late afternoon sun. The snow was in piles here and there. It was warmer than it had been, but not warm enough to melt the snow. Just as well. The cold would help disguise the stench of death for a little while longer, until all traces could be erased.

The wind blew, sending swirling grains of fine snow wisping into the air, dancing across the ground and between the buildings, pretending to be blizzards like their creator had been. He smiled at the snow as it played around him, blowing up before his eyes to dance and spin and fly to its heart's content...

There had been a face in the snowstorm... a green face. Despite the coverings against the elements, he was sure the face was green, green and familiar...

Now, as he watched the miniature versions of that larger storm, he wondered again at the face. He knew that it was real. He had seen it before, back in the old place, when he'd found that creature on the roof. It had called him that name: "Victor".

Briefly he closed his eyes against the coming pain, but he mastered it, and it passed almost as quickly as the blowing snow before his eyes.

Drawing in a deep breath, he went about his business of caring for his friends. He would also need to get some food of his own. He could not bring himself to share in the current meal. That he would never do. He would go foraging later, when it was dark.

Soon it would be time to dispose of the bodies.

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"Where are you going?"

"Out."

"Mikey."

"Leo."

Leo placed himself between the door and his brother, arms crossed.

"I need to know where you are going," he demanded. Mikey smiled winningly.

"I think you're just trying to live vicariously through me, my bro!" he replied, patting Leo on the head as if he were a small turtle tot. "Then again, I guess that's all you have now, isn't it?"

Leo counted to ten. Twice.

"Does Splinter know you are going out?"

Mikey hesitated just a millisecond before saying "Yes", but it was noticed by Leo and pounced upon at once.

"Sensei! Mikey says you--"

"Tattletale, tattletale, hanging on a bull's tail" Mikey chanted, dancing away from his brother's suddenly outstretched hand.

Splinter came in to witness something that usually involved Raphael as the one chasing Michelangelo.

"Michelangelo, where are you going?"

"I promised April I'd come over and finalize my plans for the memorial," he smoothly said, not really lying-- he had promised April he was coming over, especially as she was helping him with the food aspect. But he did plan on a slight detour.

It was still afternoon. In his disguise he could quickly exit the sewer where he and Raph had entered that day, and scope out that abandoned place quickly. He did NOT plan on a building to building search. He figured that he'd be able to determine that only ghosts dwelled there rather quickly, then it was off to April's for some last minute planning and (with any luck) dinner; it was Don's turn in the kitchen tonight, and Mikey was NOT looking forward to canned soup again.

"When do you plan on returning, my son?"

"I'll be home in time for late-night patrol! I promise!"

Splinter nodded.

"Be careful out there. We do not need to draw any more attention to ourselves. And mind those stitches! I do not wish to put them back in again."

Mikey grinned, gave his dad a quick peck on the cheek, waved cheerfully at Leo, and left.

"Sensei, should he go alone? I mean," Leo said before Splinter could form the opinion that Leo was trying to get out of his grounding, "shouldn't Raph at least go with him? Or Don?"

Splinter had to admit, his son had a valid point. But he trusted Michelangelo.

"I believe that it will be all right," he said. "But it would not hurt for one of them to go to April's later to make sure he gets home safely. I fear that the Foot will be out tonight, in greater numbers. But Michelangelo will be careful."

Leo shook his head, unconvinced.

"I just have this feeling that he's not telling the complete story," he murmured, serious but unable to put a definite name to his worry. "I just have this feeling..."

Splinter looked at Leonardo for a moment, trying to decide if this was a true concern or just another example of his recent childish behavior.

Something about the way Leonardo was speaking began to make Splinter worry now.

Then the rat shook himself.

"I have to trust him, Leonardo," he said finally. "I have to trust that he is telling the truth. What reason would he have to lie? It is not as if he is on punishment."

__

Ouch! That hurt, father!

As if realizing that as well, Splinter placed a hand on Leonardo's shoulder.

"It will be all right. We must not borrow trouble. Michelangelo will be all right."

__

Because I will see to it myself!


	27. Chapter 27

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Thanks for putting up with this long story. This chapter is pretty much all Mikey. Hope that doesn't disappoint anyone.

TMNT do not belong to me. Mirage is the owner, and I am the groaner.

**Counterphobic**

Mikey was very quick and very careful. The trip to the abandoned foundry was a time-consuming side-trip, but he made pretty good time.

He gazed at the place from where he judged that he and Raph had entered the sewers. The snow was still drifted and piled around the place, but the setting sun was bright, casting long shadows across the ground and stretching towards some distant point like an indication of which way to go.

With relative ease he hopped over the fence and looked around.

The street noise came from the distant area where a large group of apartments sat. The street Mikey was on had not been cleared, and it seemed that there was probably less traffic here even in good weather.

This place used to be a foundry for making cast iron products; indeed, some of what Mikey saw reminded him of the really old water system that sometimes they would come across-- water systems that dated back to the 1800s. Several old pipes still lay strewn about, surprising him considering the number of scavengers who could have made use of the stuff, no matter how old it was. Mikey why anything wasn't at least classified as "historical" and protected somehow. The place had been closed decades ago-- not really needed since the steel industry took dominance. Oh, they had struggled on, doing specialty work, but it evidently became too expensive to maintain.

Mikey wondered why, considering the high cost of property, that no one had torn it down to build fancy condos or something.

The buildings were row upon row, laid out like a mini-town, with little streets and alleys. Dominating the center was a HUGE round "furnace", or "smoke stack" of some kind, completely made of stone and brick. It was sure neat looking! Surrounding it were various one and two story buildings-- the main offices looked to be near this fantastic structure.

It would make a cool place to train! Like a Ninja playground! They could have some serious fun here!

He had not meant to go far, but he felt as if this place was from another time, and that he had traveled back to it. He could almost hear the workers going about their business, calling out greetings; perhaps there would be a few horses standing around, waiting to haul something somewhere, while the drivers chatted and killed time. It was as if the outside world vanished, and Mikey had discovered a hidden doorway into the past.

Yet, as he wandered around the outskirts of the abandoned buildings, something seemed odd to him. There were the usual broken windows, the usual crumbled by the weather sections, the usual "rotting" piles of wood and other organic material, still drift-covered with snow that the wind scattered in fine yet lazy swirls. But something was missing, something he had become used to when "touring" other places, whether they were abandoned or not:

Graffiti.

Mikey realized with a sort of growing dread that not one building was tagged.

This place was a tagger's dream, and yet the walls were free of marker and paint.

__

A place like this, so close to all those apartments, and no street art? That just doesn't seem like New York to me.

A stretch of snow in front of him brought him to a sharp halt. He was now between two buildings, and the sun was angling in from the horizon, illuminating the area just enough for him to recognize the tiny footprints of many, many rodents.

His skin began to crawl as he suddenly and vividly recalled his last encounter with a large multitude of rats. He remembered the guy who seemed to command the vicious little rodents; he remembered being captured and tied up and left to become a meal for the multitude of hungry squeaking things.

He remembered that he had thought it was Victor.

He realized that he couldn't swallow, that his skin was clammy with nervous sweat, that he was shaking and not from the cold.

"What the hell am I doing here?" he whispered, realization setting in. The rats had moved here... what was that?

Movement to the left of him-- and a scurrying rat skittered along the edge of the building, to quickly duck inside through a convenient hole.

He froze, listening intently. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination, or if he was hearing the rustling of hundreds of the hungry rodents.

Nervous, he had both chuks out, turning this way and that. No one was behind him-- now! But Mikey could feel his blood chill as he realized that he apparently was being followed. Several sets of rat footprints had come behind his own-- he KNEW that they were not there as he'd made his way into this narrow place between the buildings!

A hollow laugh echoed so softly on the lightly blowing wind that Michelangelo was convinced he was imagining it. Hurriedly, he retraced his steps, the lengthening shadows fading into the dusk of a normal winter evening in New York. But as he came to the end of that particular alleyway, the laugh sounded again, to the right and above him.

Looking up, he saw his "ghost"-- the tall man, wrapped with bandages in places, dirty, ragged bandages that shown out around some of the clothing he had on. Somehow, somewhere, he had found an old trench coat, blue and torn and long and none too clean. A breeze, cold and shivery, blew between the buildings, spiraling up loose grains of snow with it into a sort of dust devil shape, rising up to envelope the figure laughing down at him, completely hiding him from view-- and then, when it disappeared, so had he.

Michelangelo, without thinking, found his way to the roof of the building, where no one was visible. On guard, he swiftly made his way to the spot where the figure had been peering down at him-- no footprints were visible! Nothing was visible up here except the occasional dusting of snow and the last of the sun's pale rays as it sank below the horizon, deepening the gloom.

Street lights, faint and few, show him the way he should go-- straight to the fence, hop over, and get the hell back underground!

Then he heard it again-- that strange, hollow, faint laughter. Frantically he scanned the rooftop. There were precious few places to hide up here. He knew that his "ghost" was somewhere below him, yet he was convinced he was still somewhere close by, possibly inside the building.

Going to the ledge closest to where he thought the sound had come from, he eased his head over the side, and spied an open window, large enough for himself-- and anyone else-- to fit through.

__

Go home, Michelange**lame**! he could hear Leo saying.

He swung himself over the edge, hanging for a moment, then dropping to the window sill below, catching hold and flipping himself through the opening.

__

Are you out of whatever mind you have? the voice of Don echoed in his head.

Empty room, barely lit from whatever outside light managed to filter in, no furniture-- hey! A nickel!-- and the door before him was open into total darkness. Beyond it, he could hear a strange sort of murmuring; not of voices, but of movement.

And that laugh bubbled up from somewhere in the dark and came into that room.

Mikey stared at the door, feet edging him closer and closer...

__

You're gonna do this, aren't you? You didn't learn your lesson the last time, and now you're determined to have your ass turned into rat droppings.

"Shut up, Raph," he whispered to himself. "There's no way I'm going in there without a flashlight and you guys."

Quickly he turned, quickly he went back out the window. He hit the ground running, chased by that laugh.

He would have made a clean getaway if not for the fact that he could see the ground moving in front of him. He didn't need anyone to tell him that there was a furry welcoming committee waiting for him with open paws. He veered quickly to the right, ducking down a much narrower "alley" between two of the largest buildings, scanning his surroundings for a quick way to the roof of either if needed.

At the end, all clear to the right, but to the left and in front, more rats!

As he ran, a group of rats dropped from above-- from the low building to the left of him. Without hesitation he quickly killed and maimed them with chuks and feet and hands, running as he went, leaving the dead and screaming wounded in his wake. More rats appeared in front of him, trying to swarm him.

Thwack! Thwack thwack thwack! Crack!

More screams of rats, to be swallowed up by the new sound of angry chattering and squeaking surrounding him. Looking around, he saw he had no choice at the moment direction/wise-- it was back down yet another alley-- twisting, turning, his way blocked, only to find another way-- and all the time feeling as if he were trapped in a maze, just within sight of escape that the front gates and the sewers offered.

Panting now, scanning the roofs above him, wondering if he should try barricading himself in one of the buildings, killing more rats, running down yet another narrow path, feeling as if he was going in circles...

KNOWING that he was going in circles. He was now by the large round stone "furnace" building of earlier. More rats were coming up behind him. He spared them one brief look, then turned to run-- and collided with a tall figure who had managed to come up to him silently!

He looked up, surprised, into the face of his "ghost"--

Then was knocked unconscious before he could register anything else.

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He had been watched for a long time, not realizing that there was a shadow keeping an eye on him.

Equipped with weapon and a small flashlight, he had left the Lair ten minutes behind Michelangelo, confident that he would be able to locate him quickly.

And he had! This shadow had found him with great ease, despite the head start. The direction had puzzled the watcher, but he quietly followed, never revealing himself by sound or sight.

Not that Michelangelo suspected anything, but even the watcher could tell that he was taking great care, despite the innocence of his mission-- whatever that was. They all took great care in the sewers, even when secure in the knowledge that no one was around. It was part of their training, their lives.

So the shadow followed Michelangelo to the opening, then to the street, keeping well hidden despite the lack of available cover. He was puzzled, however-- why did this foolish turtle want to come here?

The place was abandoned, run down, and fenced off. Was he meeting someone here? Was there something going on that the family knew nothing about?

The shadow watched as his subject hopped over the fence. As quickly and as quietly as he could, he, too, was soon on the other side, following, staying under cover, waiting to see what the turtle was up to.

As unaware as Michelangelo was of his shadow, the shadow was unaware of **his own** shadow.

Shortly upon leaving to follow him, a second "shadow" left the Lair with weapon and small flashlight, following the first. As quietly as the first one went, the second was even more so. He, too, was puzzled at the direction Mikey was taking; he, too, was curious once they all had hit street side.

He was over the fence as soon as he was sure he could do so without alerting his own subject to his presence.

Both shadows unknowingly shared the same questioning thought: What was the big draw to this place for Mikey?

The first shadow had detected the rats following Michelangelo. He managed to avoid their attention, quickly getting above them onto a low roof where he could still keep an eye on the as yet unaware turtle.

The second shadow briefly wondered what was going on with the first-- and then he, too, saw the rats! Quickly he ducked into a small building, keeping close to the door, making sure that the room was rodent-free. Carefully he played his small flashlight around the area, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He had not forgotten the last encounter with the rats-- he was sure that this was the same megagroup from the warehouse district.

The laugh caught his attention, and he quickly killed the flash, straining his eyes and ears in the dark. He scanned the direction that the one he'd been following had gone, but realized that he had for the moment lost him. Back into the dark outside he went, moving closer to a sound that caused cold fear to briefly take hold of him-- the sound of rats dying.

On the roof, the first watcher had seen the foolish turtle scale the other building, only to find nothing.

_You are going to wish that you had never been hatched_ he thought to himself, preparing to leap the short distance to the other roof top and confront this foolish ninja. But just as he did so, Michelangelo had disappeared over the side.

Carefully he made his way to the approximate location where he had seen the turtle go over the side-- and as he gazed down, he saw his target suddenly bolt from the window, hitting the ground running.

And then he heard that laugh coming from the same window.

He had heard that before-- he was sure of it!

And then a strange sensation came over him; a sensation as if someone was calling to him, calling to him from a very great distance.

He shook his head to clear it, and just in time! On the roof were rats, numerous rats, and they all were converging on him!

Weapon ready, he launched the attack, driving them back, sending many to their deaths as he cleared a path that allowed him to leap back to the first building.

__

I must find Michelangelo!

The second shadow had encountered his own large group of vicious rodents as well. Vaguely aware that Mikey must be fighting, he, too, pulled his weapon and began dispatching as many of the creatures as dared get close to him.

__

Where are you, Mikey?

Both shadows were now being pursued. Despite the death and destruction they both dealt out, the sheer number of rats made escape necessary for both.

The first had left the roof; he had caught a brief scent, a brief glimpse of Michelangelo moving towards the large round building. He had to get there, to help him!

The second heard the commotion coming from behind him, and without hesitation he made for the sound, swiftly followed by many daring rats.

Both shadows witnessed what happened to Mikey. But before either could act, the tall man had slung the turtle over his shoulder and entered the "furnace" building, coming out almost immediately and closing the huge door.

Then something strange happened-- the rats quit chasing the two shadows. Suddenly they surged forwards, straight for the tall figure in the long coat, right past the two whom they had been after.

The first shadow once again felt that strange calling sensation-- and then he caught sight of his own "shadow".

The second one, standing there on guard but watching, mesmerized by this turn of events, realized that he'd been spotted. No time for that now, however. The first was motioning to him to circle around to the left, while indicating that he would be going to the right.

He nodded in understanding, then moved to do as bidden. Soon he was on the far side of the large stone building, watching in disbelief as this strange figure led the rats into the adjoining building. Not one rat paid him any attention-- indeed, several scurried over his feet on their way, as if summoned for some special purpose that blinded them to all intruders!

Carefully he played his flashlight up the side of the round stone edifice, and spied an opening where part of the stack had crumbled. Without another thought, he easily scaled the side, and soon was at the opening, shining his light down into the center, where Mikey lay for the moment.

He studied his options, then found a quick and safe way down into the room. By now the moon was out and shining whatever pale light it could reflect down into the center of this roofless place, revealing the slight trace of blood oozing from the corner of Mikey's mouth where the blow had caught him.

On the other side, the first shadow was expertly climbing down from a much higher position. The two shadows met in the center over the now stirring turtle at their feet.

"I guess this means I'm grounded for the rest of my life," the second shadow said.

"You will be in good company," the first replied, fixing a fatherly stare upon the now awake yet groggy turtle on the ground.


	28. Chapter 28

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Hi! How is it going with everyone? I trust you are all well.

TMNT are the property of Mirage. However, if my nefarious plans actually take hold, then in another month or two...

**Convictions**

"Mikey, you have to walk. We have to get out of here."

Mikey, groggy, never the less had focused on one thing.

"Why should I be grounded? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Michelangelo, look at me!"

Splinter, holding his light just so, examined his son, then sighed with relief.

"He is just still stunned," he said to Leonardo, as they forced him to his feet, supporting him on either side. "My son, we must leave at once!"

Mikey shook his head, as if to clear it. He gingerly felt the side of his face, and winced at the lingering pain.

"Man, Victor clocked me a good one," he murmured, causing the other two to look in surprise at each other, then back to Mike.

"My son, Victor is--"

"Dead, yeah, you guys keep saying that," he blinked a few times, working his jaw tenderly back and forth-- it felt as if his teeth were not in alignment at the moment. "But that's Victor. I'm sure of it."

"Mikey, we need to get out of here!" Leo insisted, pulling his brother towards the door. "Those rats and their master will be back soon, and I do NOT wish to be here when that happens."

Unfortunately the door was locked. Splinter and Leonardo immediately went to the walls, trusting that Michelangelo was recovered enough to climb up after them.

The sound of that laugh floated down to them. Looking up they could see their captor silhouetted against the night sky, standing on the rim of the stack opening.

"Victor!" Mikey shouted, despite the looks and gasps of his family. "Victor! I knew it was you!"

"Mikey, that is not him!" Leo hissed. "It doesn't even look like him! It certainly doesn't sound like him! Victor is dead! This is just some crazy maniac--"

Mikey had moved more to the center of the room, staring up at this strange figure.

"Victor, we thought you were dead! Honest! I mean, I could tell you were dead-- yet you've come back! You regenerated! Everyone said that you couldn't do that, but dude! You did! Don't you remember?"

"Michelangelo," Splinter said so quietly that it seemed like a shout rather than a whisper. "We have trouble, my son."

Splinter had sensed their presence before Leonardo, too, became aware of them-- the smell of them, the faint rasping, whispery sound of hundreds of them moving together-- there were holes in the walls here and there, holes too small for them to escape through but large enough to admit the rats.

Once again he felt some strange "call", pulling at him-- not strong, but enough to alert him to the fact that it was there-- calling him to attack--

To FEED!

"My sons, we must escape," he warned, and before they could respond, the rats were in the room, attacking with little fear!

Splinter drew his weapon and began to deal with the immediate threat. It did not take Leonardo long to join in, managing to suddenly clear a large section of rats that had appeared as if by magic around his feet.

Michelangelo, in the center, spared one more look up at the figure who stood on the edge of the ring, staring down as if watching a play of some sort. Then he felt several sharp bites, and automatically kicked and stomped the creatures around him, knocking off the few who had begun to climb his legs then smashing them with his 'chuks, tossing them like baseballs into the walls, and generally dealing out death and destruction.

The floor was becoming slick with the blood of the rats. The broken bodies, both still and twitching, piled high in no time. And still they kept coming.

"Victor!" Mikey shouted, as he killed and fought and maimed and was bitten again and again. "Victor! You've gotta remember! I'm Mikey! I gave you the book! You were created by Bishop! Victor!"

__

The pain was there as this creature's words came to him, but it was not the crippling pain of before. Whatever this being was saying, it no longer had the power to hurt him. NO one had the power to hurt him any longer.

He called to his friends to continue, he called for more friends to come and deal with these intruders-- he was puzzled by the shape of the one-- he was like his friends, and yet resisted the call--

He focused on this strange one, examining him as best as he could under the circumstances. Yes, he is one of them-- and yet-- and yet--

The memory, when it hit him, nearly sent him off the side of the building. Strapped to a table; tubes; scalpels; machines; a man-- a man in a black coat-- pain pain PAIN!

He howled in pain, and the rats momentarily milled about, confused. He roared in anger and in pain, and the rats redoubled their attack, squeaking as if in sympathy with his vocalizations.

He leaped from the building, landing with a crouch on the ground outside, and staggered off, blinded by the pain, searching for his security, chased by that strange memory--

A large rat on a table; a lot of fluid being drained from it; a lot of jolts of something to his own body; pain pain PAIN!

With a mournful howl of anguish, he ran unsteadily away from this pain, searching for his safety and his nest and his particular friends for comfort!

Inside the room, the blood was tripping them up, but they fought on. Yet the attacks were decreasing, until the rats faded away, chittering angry threats of vengeance, as they answered the distress of their friend. Soon the three were alone, surrounded by the dead and dying, ankles coated with the blood of their enemies, their own mingling with it.

Leo, searching the walls, found a likely weak spot, and with Mikey's help, they managed to knock enough bricks loose to allow them to escape.

"Quickly, my sons!"

No arguments-- as swift and as silent as they could go, they gained the fence, escaped over it, and were soon underground, safe in the sewers once again.

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Donatello finished popping up a big bowl of the white, fluffy treat, and headed into the living room. He sat on the couch, and turned on the TV, making sure that it was tuned to some movie or other-- it didn't matter what, he had to have his cover in place. He was watching a movie, yes. That is the only reason he was snacking on the couch. Why? What did you think? That I was doing THAT again? I didn't even realize you were all gone...

"I swear, for being the smartest turtle in the world, you can be incredibly stupid," Raph said, plopping down and grabbing a messy handful of the popcorn, stuffing it into his mouth and crunching it with much relish.

"I have no idea what you are referring to, Raph," Don replied in haughty tones. "I want to watch a movie, and..."

" 'Steel Magnolias'?"

Quickly Don switched to something else, then turned to Raph.

"As I was saying, I want to watch a movie--"

"I dunno," Raph, grabbing another handful, said between bites of the well-salted, crunchy treat. "Splinter is not gonna buy it. I think you're outta your mind."

"Hey, he didn't ground me for eating popcorn," he pointed out. "He didn't say 'you may no longer eat popcorn, my son.' He just grounded me for the camera bit."

"I can't believe Leo bolted so quickly," Raph shook his head, still amazed at the turn of events.

"Actually, Splinter left first," Don said, as he settled in to watch some of this film-- he had never seen it before, and he knew that his father would ask questions just to find out if he were really watching it. Splinter may not have seen every movie there was, but he was surprisingly well-versed in the synopsis of many.

Raph looked at Don.

"What?"

"Yeah. Right after Mikey left, then Splinter grabbed a weapon and headed out. Ten minutes later, Leo went out as well. They've been gone for a while now."

"Jeeze-- I hope they don't need help," Raph now worried. He had just gotten home, and had not seen anyone on the way.

The bowl was half-finished when the door opened and the three in question came in, shedding their "disguises" and heading to the infirmary.

"Donatello, come and help us," Splinter ordered. In a flash the two on the couch were there, wondering what the hell had happened.

Fifteen minutes later, in the living room, cleaned up, bandaged, and on trial, Splinter in his chair stared over his tea cup at his sons.

"I do not know who I am angrier at," he admitted. "Leonardo, who once again defies my authority, or Michelangelo, who lies to me about his destination."

"With all due respect," Mikey interrupted. "Leo didn't break your grounding you know."

Splinter, eyes wide, ears first up, then flat at this statement, got himself under control. But his twitching tail, free from the chair, warned them all as to his emotions.

"I'm not being disrespectful, Sensei," Mikey continued. "But Leo didn't leave the lair alone, and he didn't go about ground alone. You're the one who said that he could only go topside-- or anywhere for that matter-- with you. And since you were the first one to leave and to hit the street, technically Leo was with you, so he wasn't breaking his grounding."

Stunned silence reigned for a full three minutes.

Damn! And I always thought Donnie was the smart one! Raph could NOT help but smile, carefully concealing it from his father.

"He-- uh, he has a point," Don hesitantly agreed, earning a look from Splinter. "Leo didn't really defy your authority."

Splinter sipped his tea, not because he wanted it, but because he had to keep from speaking at the moment. He was afraid that he would begin to shout at such "logic". A few deep breaths, a few counting up to ten, and he sighed, letting the immediate anger go.

"Very well. Though we all know that he did break his grounding, I will accept that it could be interpreted in this manner."

Then he turned back to his youngest.

"But you! You told me you were going to April's, and yet you go to this place-- on a ghost hunt, as you told us-- and you are nearly killed! You lied to me!"

This had been the biggest shock-- that Michelangelo had lied. Oh, they had all "lied" in little ways that kids lie-- "I didn't do it" type of things. But Michelangelo was even more honest than Leonardo when it came to important things, like where he was going. They had all learned quickly to never lie about that, though Raphael would push the envelope the most-- but the safety of their family depended on being painfully truthful about where they were going and what they would be doing. All it took was one careless mistake, and the family would fall to the superior numbers of their enemies.

"But I was going to April's," he protested. "I didn't lie! I was going to April's-- I just-- stopped on the way--"

"Sensei," Leo spoke up. "Technically--"

"Technically?" Splinter snapped, and his tail lashed against the side of the chair at the use once again of this word.

Leo bowed his head respectfully.

"Yes, Sensei. Technically he did not lie. He did not say 'I'm going to April's' when he in fact was going somewhere you had banned him from going; as if he had no plans to really go to April's. And he isn't on restriction, so his going to this place-- while incredibly stupid and careless," here he favored his brother with a dirty look, "really wasn't breaking any rules. He should not be grounded for lying, because he didn't lie. He just withheld information."

Splinter, without another word, got up and went into the kitchen.

Four turtles remained rooted to their spots in the living room.

"Well, that's a good sign," Don smiled. The other three turned startled gazes on him. "He's thinking about it. He's gone into the kitchen to keep from beating your asses for being able to weasel out of your punishments. He sees that he can't do anything at the moment, that you both were right-- technically."

"Are you--" Leo started to ask, but Splinter, fresh cup of tea in hand, had returned. He settled in his chair and sipped the fragrant, hot liquid. Then he looked at the two on the couch.

"Very well. I accept your reasoning. But I will not accept any such behavior in the future."

"Hai, Sensei," they chorused, bowing.

"Now, let us deal with this business," Splinter said, "of your thinking this man is Victor."

"Mikey, how many times do we have to explain--" Donatello began, when Mikey held up his hand, halting him.

"Look-- I'm not crazy," he replied. "That is Victor. I know it is."

"That is some serious whack bag who can fuckin' control rats!" Raph burst out. "What's the matter with you?"

"I know that he is Victor! He is alive! We need to reach him, to bring him back to himself somehow," Mikey insisted heatedly. "I know he is alive, and that his mind's all messed up--"

"He controls rats! Victor didn't control no rats!" Raph shouted. "This guy don't even look like him!"

"My son," Splinter interjected. "I told you in the tunnels of this being's 'power'. I could hear him calling them-- he was trying to call to me as well-- this is not something your friend could do. This man-- if indeed he IS a 'man'-- I just do not believe that he is your friend."

Mikey stubbornly crossed his arms, looking like he used to as a child. He was tired, hungry, hurt, and probably in a world of trouble with April as he realized that no one had called her to let her know he wasn't going to make it tonight.

But he was convinced he was right.

"Mikey, I know-- tomorrow, let's get in contact with that Dr. Baker," Don suggested. "He and Leatherhead and Honeycutt can come over, and you can tell him about it. He must have some knowledge about the Slayer and all that stuff, and perhaps he can convince you that you cannot regenerate a brain."

Mikey slowly uncrossed his arms. Yeah-- that doctor dude-- he could be the one to talk to-- but it might just be his family that gets the "rude awakening".

For Mikey recalled at that moment that Baker's research had been in the field of repairing brain damage! HOW could Don have forgotten that?

"Yes," he heard himself say, a smile beginning to cross his features. "Yes, lets do that."

So it was agreed. Peace now reigned in the lair.

Until the phone rang.

"Hello?" Mikey, closest, answered the device.

"I'm going to freaking kill you, Michelangelo!" April's shrill threat was loud enough for everyone to hear.


	29. Chapter 29

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Hi, TMNT aren't mine, Dr. Baker is mine, great wealth isn't mine, lots of trouble is mine...

**Conversations**

Hun had learned many lessons from Oroku Saki. One of the most important was presentation.

He stood in the tailor's shop, having just participated in his final fitting for three very expensive yet tasteful suits.

"Money is the key, Hun," Saki had said once, when Hun had accompanied him to this very tailor-- the finest in NYC. "But do not assume that just because you spend a lot of it that you get the quality you are after-- you must present yourself to others as someone not merely successful, but someone with taste as well. A business suit should speak 'Business', not 'showoff'."

So it was that Hun was now admiring the high quality yet tasteful design of the three outfits that he had tried on. The linen "casual" amazed him; he had never thought of clothes as making one seem so... so... respectable. This outfit made even him look as if he belonged at an informal afternoon meeting or outdoor get-together.

The charcoal gray wool for important board meetings or dealings with the most important people was so simple in design-- and yet it hung off of him as comfortably as if he were used to wearing such things from little up. He could not take his eyes off the mirror for a good few minutes.

But the tuxedo-- the tuxedo was even more elegant than the one he'd worn to Karai's little "dedication opening" a short time back! Again he longed for a way to be able to have his father-- and his mother-- see him decked out so finely. It would have pleased her and killed HIM!

"Good news, Sir," the tailor interrupted his thoughts. "The coat was finished ahead of schedule. All we need to do is try it on you and see if any fine tuning is needed."

"Mr. Jacob, I am certain that it will require NO fine-tuning," Hun complimented him, absurdly pleased as he watched the assistant approach with the specially made deep black cashmere topcoat. "My late employer always told me that you were a Master of the old order when it came to clothing. At that time, I have to admit, I did not see the importance of such things, but now-- now I understand."

The tailor blushed appropriately even as his ego swelled again. He knew he was the best-- he was not a name-brand, but who cared? His custom outfits only graced the frames of the most powerful-- and it did not matter what their occupations were.

"I am pleased that I have you as a client, Sir," he replied. "You have such a unique build that it is a pleasure outfitting you!" And it was, it was! His skills were proved time and again, as he fashioned tasteful outfits that sat comfortably on Hun's huge physique. Stuff from the local Big and Tall shop looked just that-- something that came from a big and tall shop. But the finery Mr. Jacob fashioned for Hun was Art!

Hun smiled, pleased beyond belief. Then he slipped on the topcoat-- and nearly teared up, it was so wonderful.

"Is it ready to go? I would like to wear it out," he asked, like a child with a new toy.

"Oh, yes, Sir-- it looks as if it is a perfect fit. You are sure it is not to binding in the shoulders?" the tailor worried, stretching his thin, short arms upwards in an effort to get Hun to move his own massive ones in a way that would demonstrate any imperfections in fit.

Hun obliged the little man, and everything was fine-- no seams popped, no bunching occurred-- his muscles moved unrestricted in their fine casing, and he smiled in delight.

"The suits will be delivered as soon as they are ready," the tailor said, as Hun prepared to leave. Fang, his assistant, already had the wallet out to pay for the purchases, while Hun slipped his specially made leather gloves on and buttoned the new topcoat.

"Mr. Jacob, it is always pleasure doing business with you," Hun said, bowing from habit. He found that this little affectation, a hold over from his years with the Shredder, did a lot to impress people-- even more so than a handshake. They invariably bowed back-- as did Mr. Jacob.

"I am the one honored by your custom, Sir," he replied, hands clasped as his assistant rang up the sale and presented the change and receipt to Fang.

Business concluded, Hun stepped out into the bright sun of winter. The snow was mostly removed from the streets, the sidewalks fairly cleared in this part of town, and the air, cold and crisp, was warded off by the warmth of his new topcoat.

Into the limo, and off to his business luncheon.

"But why with Karai, Master Hun?" Fang asked. This still puzzled him. He knew better than most just how Hun had felt about this witch.

"The Shredder used to quote that strange saying, 'politics makes strange bedfellows'," Hun responded, brushing an imagined speck of dust from the sleeve of his coat. "Karai and the Foot are still a profitable business venture. Their legitimate holdings are perfect for our own purposes, and it lends an air of respectability to our own businesses. Plus, I need to keep an eye on her. I do not trust her; and she doesn't trust me. It's the perfect working relationship, actually."

They arrived at the restaurant, and Hun was soon seated, awaiting Karai's arrival. He glanced over the wine list. Truth to tell, he never really had cared for it, but he was slowly acquiring a taste for it as well as some simple knowledge. He learned right away to rely on the wine steward, and his size prevented the more snooty from trying any foolish tricks on him.

"I may not know French," he said to one who had viewed him with a haughty look, "but I understand attitude and intentions. Especially bad ones!"

The man came off his high horse in a hurry, and Hun was treated to a very fine bottle of real French champagne on the house.

Hun was so enjoying this!

Karai arrived fifteen minutes late. She was impeccably dressed, simply and elegantly, for a business luncheon. Many men in the place admired her as she was escorted to the table where Hun, the proper gentleman, had risen to greet her with their usual bows-- old habits die hard. Hun was the envy of many-- what a hot date!

"My apologies for being late," she said, as they seated themselves and the waiter poured the wine that Hun had ordered. "A last-minute opportunity presented itself, and I had to deal with it at once."

"Anything I might find interesting?"

She smiled a tiny bit, sipping the wine.

"This is very good," she commented. "You have good taste."

Hun shrugged off the compliment. He did not press Karai-- he still had some contacts with the Foot who would get him the information if possible.

"I'm learning to like a lot of stuff," he replied instead, and picked up the menu again. He pretty much knew what he was going to have-- steak, rare, with mashed potatoes rather than baked, and plenty of mixed veggies.

Karai sized him up even as she, too, glanced at the menu. She decided to keep it simple: caesar salad with shrimp tossed in as extra.

"I may have a way to locate Dr. Baker," she said, after their orders were taken.

Hun barely paused in his appetizer. But her news was startling.

"You know where he is?"

"No, that has not changed. He is still with the Turtles, wherever in those disgusting sewers they are hiding," she wrinkled her nose at the mention of such places, even as she helped herself to an appetizer. "But we found a most interesting device at our outpost. It appears to be a transmitter that was spying on our movements. Chaplin was most impressed with its complexity, considering it was cobbled together from junk. It's transmission range is very good, but still limited. Even now Chaplin is working on refining the accuracy of the radius and methods of triangulation. We should have a general location by tomorrow. I am certain that we can flush him out-- as well as those freaks."

"Well, this is good news!" Hun agreed. In the old days he would have brought up her failure to keep the person in question from being rescued, but things had changed. He still didn't like her; but he had grown to appreciate her; perhaps even admire her.

Perhaps.

"Tell me, no more fairy tales. What is the real reason this man is so important?"

Hun waited until their lunch, just now appearing at their table, arrived, then he smiled even as he cut into his sizzling steak.

"He was Bishop's top person in regeneration, especially of the brain," he replied, and took a hearty mouthful of the rare meat, careful to not get any of the blood on his clothing. Table manners were something else he had cultivated with his new status, to the point where even when he was alone he was cautious of messes. "Mmm..." -- swallow-- "they make the best steaks anywhere. Anyways, at first I suspect that Bishop-- or whomever hired us-- just wanted him back or dead. But now, they just want him back. And since the story is that Bishop is dead, I'm wondering if their urgent need is in somehow bringing him back..."

Karai, in the middle of her salad, looked at Hun with skepticism.

"Science fiction, Hun? Bringing the dead back to life?"

Hun shrugged, well into his veggies.

"Look at Stockman," he pointed out, a touch of his old "self" coming out to jibe her. "Or rather, don't look at him, it's too gruesome. Might put you off your dainty meal."

She did not like being reminded of her pity for that megalomaniac. She lost all sympathy for the scientist once she knew that he was the one to betray her father to Bishop.

"Stockman will someday receive my attention," she said, sipping some more wine. "But do you really believe they can bring Bishop back from the dead?"

"I ain't really interested in if they can," Hun replied. "But I'm thinking that this guy can be of use to me. I got some projects I might want to use him for."

"Planning on bringing your father back from the grave in order to rub your success in his face?" she asked innocently.

Hun, in the old days, would have hit her if he had dared. But now--

"I wish it were that easy," he easily laughed, pouring more wine for himself as well as her. "That would be something. No, I'm thinking more along the lines of using him as a bargaining chip-- it helps to keep the Government's eyes away from business. A few 'friends' in the right positions as it were..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but she understood his meaning. He would have something to hold over someone working for the government; this person, in influential position, could be of great help in preventing some of Hun's more daring adventures from coming home to rest on his expensive doorstep.

She ate her salad in comfortable silence, mulling over this bit of news...

She, too, would like to misdirect the Government away from a few projects that she had in the works...

But at the moment, she was not sure she was willing to cross Hun. She could ill-afford a war with him right now. Both had worked hard to maintain a respectable appearance; indeed, their organizations, combined, were slowly squeezing out the Mob. Working with the Dragons was for the moment to their mutual benefit.

"So, you'll be ready to go sewer hunting tomorrow?" he asked, as if they had been discussing this topic steadily. Karai finished up her meal, making use of her napkin though there had been no real need.

"Hopefully. Not that I am looking forward to entering that realm, but if Chaplin's plans go accordingly, I should not have to-- he will find them and then-- we will be settling some old scores."

Hun, smiling, lifted his glass to her.

"To settling old scores," he said, a glint in his eye. She met his gaze, read the double meaning-- and smiled in return, lifting her own glass.

"To settling old scores," she replied, and sipped her wine in a very amused frame of mind. They had a truce for the moment-- it may very well last for years-- but neither trusted the other. They both knew that the other felt this way, yet strangely enough, it did not bother them. It was, in fact, rather comforting, knowing that some things never change.

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Dr. Baker sat on the couch in the Turtles lair, stunned into awkward silence. Many sets of eyes pinned him to his seat, and the range of emotions was almost overwhelming.

He had just heard a long and frequently interrupted story about Bishop and the Slayer and someone named Victor and "Frankenstein" and memorial services and someone controlling rats and...

And the bickering!

"He's dead!"

"No, I'm telling you--"

"Mikey, dead is dead!"

"That's why we thought--"

"He's not dead! He's that guy controlling the rats!"

"Mikey, he is not! You're imagining--"

"Doesn't look like him, doesn't--"

"It's HIM!"

"His brain was fried by Bishop--"

"But YOU were working on fixing brains, right?"

"Mikey, the brain--"

"Cause otherwise why are they still looking--"

"My sons, please allow the doctor to speak!"

Baker sat there, trying to sort it all out. This one turtle wanted him to say that people can come back from the dead, that brains can be regenerated. The others wanted him to confirm that such things were not possible and to accept that this mysterious stranger was NOT the person the one turtle wanted it to be.

"I-- I never saw the Slayer activated," he finally said, cringing slightly, eyes downcast. "I had left my position long before then. I had a friend who kept me informed, but I never saw it."

He took a shuddering breath.

"As for the 'fail safes'-- well-- thank God I never had anything to do with those," he hoarsely whispered. "I do not recall anything like that being used at the time, but it sounds so much like something Bishop would devise. And judging by your descriptions," here he briefly looked at Donatello, who had told him the story of the brain-rupturing device that this Victor had informed them about, "anyone surviving would pretty much be a vegetable."

"You see?" Raph couldn't help pleading with Mikey.

Mikey was not to be deterred.

"But the regeneration! You said you'd been working on something like it! And what if it worked? What if it had not really killed him, and he managed to regenerate enough just to drag himself out of there before the explosion? What if--"

"What if the moon were made of candy?" Raph was angry. He loved his brother to death, and couldn't understand why he was determined to make himself so unhappy.

There was an uneasy silence. Then Baker spoke.

"I might have a logical reason why you think this way," he said, memory coming back to him as he rethought all he'd been told. "When I was on the run, I came across-- one of Bishop's 'clones'-- injured badly, strange wounds, strange combination of human and metal. But it was definitely one of Bishop's clones." And he told them how he'd found this poor being under an old bridge; how he'd recognized it as Bishop's handiwork; how he'd tried to get help for it ("and at the same time bring some unwanted attention to Bishop's work") but it had vanished by the time he'd returned from making the call.

"Perhaps this is who you saw," he said, clutching his hands absently together. "Perhaps this person is the-- the one you mistook for-- for the Slayer."

"Victor," Mikey said, hopes falling despite his stubborn determination to believe otherwise.

Splinter spared his youngest a pitying glance before returning to Dr. Baker.

"This would make the most sense," he said. "Especially where the damage to the brain was concerned."

"Yes," Baker nodded in agreement. "Despite the progress of our work, I just can't believe that anyone could survive and recover from what you have described."

Leo felt for his brother. Mikey had so wanted to have this to be true!

"What puzzles me," Baker said after a few minutes of respectful silence, "is this being able to 'control' the rats. Why would Bishop design anyone who could do such a thing?"

No one could answer his question.


	30. Chapter 30

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Okay-- I'm so far behind because I've blocked on this-- so I am forcing this chapter-- I just need to get stuff moving! Please forgive how little action there is, but it is coming! Also, I do NOT know if Chaplin has a first name. They only used his character last season, and he was only called Dr. Chaplin (unlike Stockman, whose name Baxter is well-known). So I have created one for the purposes of this chapter. Everyone except my own creations are the property of Mirage and 4Kids, and hopefully they are not in the mood to attack with ninja-lawyers...

**Collecting**

When Stan Chaplin graduated MIT, he was sure that there was something awaiting him that would be more exciting than the usual humdrum boring old jobs one found with the Government or so-called "research" facilities.

Cure for cancer? Bah! Gas-efficient transportation? Screw the environment, what had it ever done for him? Weapons technology? No government wanted anything new and cutting-edge. NASA? Pulleeeeze! Those losers?

Now, if he had the backing, he could set up like his "hero", Baxter Stockman, and create a lot of stuff-- just enough dreck to finance his bigger projects, whatever they might be. But that was the problem-- backing.

Then the invasion happened, and all that wonderful otherworldly stuff started finding its way to him-- he remembered with a tear his first close-up glimpse of a Triceraton blaster! True, he'd nearly killed himself and several bystanders when he had tried to fire it (at the Triceratons-- hey! Everyone else was doing it!), but it had been FREAKIN' FANTASTIC! All that POWER! The technology! The sheer WONDER of it all!

And just as the invasion had finally halted or stopped (who cared why? Look at all the shiny new toys that they left behind!), miracle of miracles, he had been recruited by Oroku Enterprises! He had heard about them (though not much-- but they were "famous"), and he had seen the illustrious Oroku Saki on TV; the inventor/millionaire had wasted no time in contacting the Mayor about repairing the damage to New York once the Triceraton threat was past-- but to be recruited by this same person's company!

__

He remembered it as if it were yesterday: he was scavenging through some of the wreckage of a Triceraton hover craft (along with others), dodging the authorities who for selfish reasons refused to allow the general public their Constitutional rights to freedom of exploration, when he had accidentally bumped into the largest man in the entire world!

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" he had exclaimed, getting up from the ground-- the force of the collision had knocked Chaplin on his ass, but he acted as if he'd injured the other fellow. "I hope I didn't hurt you!"

Hun looked at this puny specimen in surprise-- an experienced person at reading others, he was floored that this fellow was genuinely sincere-- not scared because of his size, but actually concerned.

"No problem," Hun replied, helping Chaplin to recover what he had dropped-- a goodly sized chunk of the control panel. "Strange souvenir," he added. He'd been watching the scavengers for some time, as per his Master's orders, and for some reason this particular one had attracted his attention. Hun could tell he was not just the typical looter.

"Souvenir? Bah! Losers all of them," he said without rancor, as he carefully dusted his prize off. "This is so exciting! Have you ever seen tech like this? HOW were they able to keep such heavy transport hovering without gigantic motors generating tons of energy? I mean, helicopters can hover and fly, but look at what it takes to keep them in the air! THESE Triceratons, however-- I mean, what is the fuel source? Where are the engines? HOW were they able to effectively nullify the laws of gravity? I must find out..."

And he became lost in thought, wondering just how many things he could invent once he found out the secrets of the Triceratons.

And then for some reason he was giving Hun his phone number-- something about a job, and shoot, what the hell? Money is money-- and then he found out just what kind of job-- HOLY COW! It was as if he had died and gone to Heaven!

And the most amazing thing-- BAXTER STOCKMAN was the lead scientist!

"Cool! A brain in a jar!" he had exclaimed, then apologized as the "brain in a jar" proceeded to put him in his place.

This was great! Soon he was put to work, and it was a dream come true! His day was divided between assigned projects and his own experiments. The large guy had told him that their Master (odd, that, but what the heck? Saying "Master Saki" was just as easy as saying "Professor" or "Doctor") was very interested in his ideas regarding the antigravity aspects of the Triceratons, and Chaplin was free to access whatever they had already salvaged in order to pursue that avenue.

Of course, Oroku Saki DID expect that any useful inventions coming from the research would be his sole property, but Chaplin would be well-rewarded as well as given all due credit.

It had been such a good life...

Chaplin sighed as he waited for Mistress Karai to enter his lab. Things had not changed much, but he regretted that his boss had been banished to some far-off frozen wasteland for lots of murders and other things. It had been so freakin' cool, finding out that this powerful man Oroku Saki was really some squishy little alien with tentacles! Chaplin had gotten to do so much, including helping to successfully build a spacecraft to help the Big Guy get back to where he was going. Too bad that stupid Agent Bishop and those annoying Turtles had messed stuff up!

And the most shattering of blows-- his beloved idol, Baxter Stockman, had sold them out!

Thinking back on that time, as he awaited Karai's arrival, he recalled their trip to Beijing to retrieve the antigravity device that was keeping the city floating miles above the Earth. Somehow he had been accidentally left behind to die-- but luckily, he and Karai had survived, and with Mr. Saki's vast connections had soon found himself back home again-- much to the dismay of Baxter Stockman.

__

"You know, I **think** Dr. Stockman isn't happy to see us alive," he had confided to Karai, after their teleconference. "I wonder why? I would have thought he'd be glad."

Karai had made some noncommittal response; now that he considered it, it occurred to him that it had been no accident, that Stockman had meant to kill him! And Karai had known it-- yet she had not told him.

"Oh, well, water under the bridge!" he shrugged, shifting some items around on his work table so he could sit more comfortably.

Now he worked for Karai, and though it wasn't the same as Oroku Saki, it had NOT been boring! And this latest project promised to be KILLER!

Literally!

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Leatherhead was keeping a tight rein on his emotions. He had accepted this man's apology, had even forgiven him. But Leatherhead sometimes still had nightmares of that time.

Only Splinter and Honeycutt knew of these. Though they were less frequent than in the beginning, occasionally they would crop back up.

Splinter had helped him, over the long months, to master these dreams, to recognize them for what they were and to "control" them, and he was forever grateful to the Rat for this valuable ability. It had helped immensely.

He had not had an incident like that first one, where he attacked Michelangelo and almost killed him, still caught up in his hideous nightmare.

But this man's necessary presence was affecting him. He knew it was all in his head, but that was the problem-- making sure it didn't come out. Leatherhead did not enjoy being deemed a monster.

The weather was still cold, but there had been no more snow for a while. Leatherhead was meeting with Michelangelo by the river. Splinter had asked their friend to see if he could help convince the young turtle that he must do this memorial service as soon as possible.

Splinter was concerned with his son's obsession that this new, unknown man who seemingly controlled the rats was in fact Victor. Dr. Baker had done his best to dissuade the Turtle, but Michelangelo could be quite stubborn.

__

"Did you ever see the Slayer?" he had finally challenged the doctor, and the poor man squirmed.

"No, I only saw the clones. I left long before he activated the Slayer. But even though the fellow I found was one of Bishop's clones, that does not mean he was this Victor! You have no idea just how many of those 'creatures' he had-- row upon row of his own clones-- literally hundreds! "

"Tell me about it," Raph had muttered, shivering at the memory of being momentarily caught under one of those fallen containers.

Though Michelangelo appeared to have accepted the words of the scientist, Splinter could tell that he was not really convinced.

__

"We must do the memorial," Splinter had insisted to his friend. "I fear that he will make some fatal mistake if he continues to believe this man is Victor."

"Are **you **sure it is **not **Victor?" he had replied. Splinter considered the question for a few minutes.

"I cannot say with certainty. I just-- I just do not **feel** that this is the -- the 'man' my son befriended," he finally had replied.

And so Leatherhead waited near the opening by the river, gazing out at the clear night sky, longing for warm weather when he might go for a moonlit swim in the river-- maybe even get as far as the ocean for a few hours; find a nice sandy shore where he could sit unseen and watch the stars, and maybe catch a fish or two. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he still enjoyed a bit of fresh raw fish-- really fresh, not the sashimi that his friends had introduced him to.

Sometimes he felt rather barbaric, catching and killing and consuming some creature just going about its business. But then the inner voice would remind him that he was a crocodile, in spite of his mutation, that he had to eat, and that he was no different from the human fishermen who lined the shores, pulling the creatures of the deep from their homes with hooks firmly imbedded in their mouths.

"Hey, L.H.! How's it look out there?" the voice of his cheerful young friend penetrated his musings, and he smiled before he even turned to greet Michelangelo.

"It is a beautiful night," he returned. "Not much activity outside, but very cold none the less," the Crocodile returned, absently slipping on his huge gloves and pulling up his hood.

Mikey, similarly protected from the elements as well as prying eyes, carefully stuck his head out and scanned the area. It appeared deserted, but he could take no chances. The Foot had been here a while ago, and their leader, while out of practice, was not stupid. Everyone expected that once the weather improved Karai and her duly chastised group would be back, if not for Baker at least for revenge.

"Let's go this way," he said finally, indicating a way to the left that was heavily sheltered with overhanging buildings and much abandoned junk lying around, most of it still covered in the now hardened remainder of snow from the blizzard.

"How have you been keeping, my friend?"

Mikey smirked as he walked along the moonlit riverbank with.

"I've been okay," he responded. "Kept out of trouble since getting out of being grounded. Poor Leo-- at least his punishment wasn't increased, but he's still under house arrest." He eyed the crocodile with a sideways glance. "So, how long before you try to convince me that the guy I saw isn't Victor?"

Leatherhead drew a deep breath of the biting cold air. Fortunately, there was no wind, so it wasn't so bad-- but it did bring the tears to his eyes as it were, and burned and stung his sinus cavities even as he reveled in the amalgam of scents in the air.

"Ah, fish, and diesel, and a hint of the ocean," he said in response, taking another deep breath. "Some sewage, but not much. I can still smell the snow as well." Then he looked directly at his young friend.

"I do not know what to say, Michelangelo. I, too, do not believe that this person is whom you believe it is. I, too, feel that you really need to go forth with the memorial service-- it is time to let Victor's ghost rest."

Mikey didn't respond, and there was no sound for a while except the occasional crunch of some wayward icy snow under their careful feet.

"I sincerely believe that you want this to be true," he continued, choosing his words carefully. "It weighs heavily on your mind, does it not, his tragic end?"

"We should have been able to help him!" Mike let slip, with much more force and volume than he had planned on. He got himself under control, looking around. He was confident that they could not be seen, but still, he was Ninja enough to be on the alert. "We should have found a way to keep what happened from happening. And I think that he did survive..."

"How? Who removed the body?"

"I don't know! Some of Bishop's men--"

"Donatello and I made a clean sweep of the area," Leatherhead informed him. "The only stragglers we found were the ones who needed help themselves to escape. There was no one to remove the body."

"Then he regenerated and moved himself!"

They had come to a halt at the water's edge, and for a while the only sound was the lapping of the river against the shore, the occasional deep "call" of a tug boat to another in passing, and the very faint sounds of the city from a great distance. Somewhere in the night Mikey could hear the low note of a tanker's horn, sounding sad and mournful.

"I know," he replied to his friend's silence. "He couldn't. I know what dead bodies look like. I've seen enough; killed enough beings to know the signs. The smell, the sound, the look-- I know. The body grows cold so fast. So very cold."

Then he swallowed hard, and made eye contact with his large friend.

"But when I saw this guy-- I just-- I just got this feeling that it was Victor! Somehow he'd escaped! Somehow he'd found his way out!"

"Did he recognize you? Respond to you?"

Mikey broke the gaze, his eyes blurred for the moment by many emotions. He fixed his stare on his feet-- he'd not worn boots tonight, and they were getting cold. And they were getting rather dirty, despite the winter weather. Splinter would not be happy for him to traipse all that back into the Lair.

"No," he finally managed to answer, small and childlike in its tone. "I mean, he seemed to act like-- like he was confused-- but--"

A sound, faint, almost undetectable to the normal persons, whispered through the air, putting both the Ninja and the Crocodile on guard. Both immediately faded into the shadows, on high alert. This was instinct; both knew the routine, both knew the consequences of being careless.

Above them, yet another abandoned warehouse, this one so close to the shore that access was easy-- and dangerous. Both could see the dilapidated condition of the riverside entrance. But both were able to gain access with ease, and in no time they were in a secure position to scope out the street.

Soon the pair spotted movement that went with the sounds. Black shadows moved here and there-- keeping to the dark, but still visible to those who had excellent night vision and Donatello's special goggles. Mikey had wasted no time in yanking his from his belt and slipping them on, and it wasn't long before he spotted Foot-- many Foot.

They were stealthily making their way towards the large pipe that Mikey and Leatherhead had recently exited.

"Damn damn damn!" Mikey barely whispered, getting out his shell-cell and dialing even as he cursed. Three rings got him Don. "We got trouble!"

He wasted no time in describing the trouble.

Don wasted no time in questions.

"Got it. Be ready for a game of Hide and Seek," was his response, after a brief pause while he had addressed Splinter.

Mikey hung up and shed his winter coverings, all the time keeping his eyes on the ever-growing crowd.

"Karai," Leatherhead spotted the woman before Mikey did.

Indeed, Karai was there, full battle gear-- and with her was that weasilly little scientist-- umm... Chapman? Champline? Chaplin! Yes, Chaplin!

"It's all ready, Mistress Karai," his eager schoolboy voice cut through the still night air clearly, earning him a hissing admonishment from the woman to lower his voice. Mikey strained to listen-- belatedly he wish he'd thought to bring the listening thingie that Don had built.

Fortunately, Chaplin was not able to keep his voice low for long.

"Now, the only thing is, I can't tell the exact location, but it's gotta be somewhere within this radius," he was saying, pointing to something on a glowing screen held in his hand. The shape of the device was like a large handgun-- but even from this distance Mikey could see the various controls-- _Donnie is so gonna love getting his hands on that!_

"And, taking into account that they wouldn't be under the river, I'm sure that we can find a trace of them," he concluded. "All we gotta do is look for security systems. When we find those, we've found them! I can plug into them easily--"

Once again he was shushed.

Mikey made yet another quick call, and told his brother what the scientist was bragging about.

"Yeah, I'd LIKE to see that redheaded dweeb crack MY system!"

Leatherhead, hearing Don's derisive snort sound through Mikey's phone, smiled a toothy grin at his friend's reaction.

Mikey, hanging up again after a few more instructions from his brainy brother, motioned to the Crocodile to follow him away from the ever-growing crowd of enemies.

"We gotta make sure they do not find home," he needlessly said, getting ready to enter the sewers through another pipe that would allow the Crocodile access to the systems. "We're gonna lead them away. If you wait long enough, you should be able to make it home--"

"Please, my friend! I would not dream of allowing you to do this without my help! I know the systems as well as you," he smiled, placing a hand on Mikey's shoulder. "Just make sure Honeycutt knows to keep himself and Baker in hiding."

"You got it, Big Guy!"

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"Will you be joining us?"

Karai wrinkled her nose, then regained her composure. She looked at the Ninja chosen to lead the search-- Miyake-- and kept her gaze steady and cold.

"When you have something worth my presence, I will join you!"

The appointed leader, chastised for the moment, immediately bowed deeply to his mistress.

"I meant no disrespect, Mistress!"

I am certain that you did, my friend.

Miyake was one of the few left from Shredder's rule of the Foot-- too arrogant for her to trust, too valuable for her to lose. He knew just how far he dare go-- for the moment-- but she was going to have to do something definite about his attitude-- and soon!

"When you have found them, notify me," she finished, turning her shapely back on this underling and returning to her well-hidden limo.

He noticed that she had not added the usual words of "do not fail me".

He suspected that she might be hoping that he would. He was careful to keep the contempt from his face; too many of her most loyal Ninja were in his command, and they would not hesitate to curry favor with the Mistress by removing him.

"Move out!" he ordered, and the group entered the system, prepared to locate the missing scientist, the Turtles, and anyone else that might make their Mistress pleased.


	31. Chapter 31

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They're not mine, they're not mine, they're not mine-- woe-woe-woe is me, they're not mine!

**Chicanery**

__

"All you have to do is follow this signal," Chaplin had explained to Miyake, handing out the devices to him and three others. "It's very simple--"

Miyake's head had spun as Chaplin proceeded to explain just how "simple" it was, using terms that even he had never heard before, and he was not uneducated! He'd been in the service of the illustrious Oroku Saki for many years, had seen many things, had even helped to produce many things-- but this!

Yet, as annoying as this otaku was, he never talked down to anyone-- unlike their current "employer".

"...and that's all there is to it, really," Chaplin had finished, smiling. Miyake merely gave a small bow, accepting his own device. Then with a wordless signal, the group of ninja immediately split into four smaller teams and vanished into the night. The orders were simple: enter the system, fan out, and find the target.

Miyake's group entered the large pipe that Michelangelo and Leatherhead had used earlier. Equipped with night vision, they were able to move silently yet smoothly through the unfamiliar terrain.

Chaplin had theorized that the range of the listening device they'd found was pretty far, but not immense-- no more than three miles tops, and that they should be able to run into some kind of security system part way in. That would be their indication that they were on the right track. As soon as anything remotely like that was discovered, Chaplin would be escorted there by a special team; no one trusted his ability to get through the sewers quietly while they were searching.

Two hours later, they were still searching. They had, by Miyake's estimate, surpassed the three mile mark so to speak, and they had come across nothing that remotely seemed like security. The devices Chaplin had equipped them with were programed to warn them of surveillance activity. Unless they were faulty, then there was none to be found.

Several times the groups had run into each other. Despite the numerous endless passageways, they had managed to encounter only each other. The tracking devices kept pulling them towards each other like powerful magnets. Indeed, Miyake encountered the same group three times.

And, as Miyake and his team stood in the vast drainage junction that they had been led to by the furiously beeping signal, this same group, led by one "Ryu", entered as well, ready for battle-- only to react in disgust at once again finding friend instead of foe.

"These devices are useless," Ryu complained contemptuously, tossing the delicate equipment carelessly to one of his subordinates. "We needed nothing like this to find our enemies in Tokyo. We will find these 'kapa' on our own."

"If you wish to find enemies, continue to question your orders," Miyake responded threateningly. "Mistress Karai demands we use them-- no matter what we may think. I am surprised that you of all people would complain about her decisions."

"There is no one more loyal to the Mistress than me!" Ryu responded heatedly. "Where were you when we followed her every direction, and kept tight control of our interests back in the true country? Oh, yes, I remember-- fighting with common street thugs and that pathetic 'mob', when your almighty 'Oroku Saki' was believed dead! My mistress had to come here to restore order!"

"Your 'mistress' was following the orders of the great Shredder," Miyake reminded him. "Our powerful Master was not dead, and Karai knew this! She no more restored order than you can restore your good looks!"

At this, several of the Foot stifled laughs. Upon their first encounter, Ryu, taller and heavier than the five foot six inch Miyake, had thought to provoke him during a bout in the dojo, and had ended up with a broken nose and a ragged gash across his left cheek. Karai had had to threaten Ryu with immediate death to keep him from killing Miyake and starting a civil war.

Ryu spat into the sewer water, then motioned to the tracking device that Miyake still held.

"I will find the Turtles without that worthless _kikai_."

Miyake was practically chest to chest with Ryu, locking his fierce black eyes onto the sneering gaze of his rival's.

"I am in charge; you will continue to use it!"

Grinning, Ryu turned away, muttering some soft comment to his companions; Miyake heard the word "_Sansei_" clearly enough. He had made it sound like an insult!

"Yes, Ryu, I am _Sansei_ and proud of it!" he hissed, forcing the other ninja to turn back to him. "My father and grandfather, many of my uncles and cousins, have served the Foot and the Shredder for many, many decades, both in the 'true' country and here in this one! You would be well-advised to remember this fact!"

Ryu stared at the hand that had grabbed his arm and yanked him around. The anger was evident on his scarred face, yet he managed to keep control-- for the moment.

_"Baka wa shinanakya naoranai_," Ryu spoke the proverb in reply, a taunting smile on his lips.

Miyake's hand dropped from Ryu's arm even as he stepped back at the words. Now the anger on his face rivaled that of Ryu's-- but he, too, struggled to keep control.

"_Mika bosu_," he sneered, wiping the smile from Ryu's face. "I thought so. Things become difficult and you quit. Yes, I can see that such a device in your hands is useless. _Neko ni koban_, as they say."

Both groups tensed. In each were those who backed the other "leader". Since Karai had brought in the contingency from Japan, the New York Foot had become more and more hard-pressed to maintain their positions. Now this Ryu, fresh from Tokyo, thought that he could easily replace Miyake, longtime loyal servant of the glorious Oroku Saki?

As if by unseen signal, the Foot began to separate there in the junction, moving towards the leader of their choice, not Karai's. Ryu's group was smaller but not by many. They all had their weapons drawn...

"Damn, at this rate, we won't have to do anything about them!" Raph's disappointed voice floated out of the dark, echoing around the two groups and causing all of them to turn this was and that, trying to find the direction. Unfortunately for them, this junction had many different pipes and conduits emptying into it; the location was hard to detect.

"Yeah," came Don's response. "And I'm all out of popcorn, too. This is better than a Zatoichi film!"

"Naw, I want some action," Raph replied, as Foot fanned out at the orders of both leaders, making for every pipe, every opening they could access.

"Getting warmer," Don teased them all. "Warmer... warmer... nope! Cold cold cold!"

"Find them!" Miyake shouted, himself heading for the catwalk that span the vast swirling pit that swallowed up all the offerings that flowed into it. "Find them!"

"Yeah, find us!" Raph encouraged. "I need the exercise. Ain't had no real action since the last time we kicked your asses."

"This way!" Ryu suddenly shouted, as he caught sight of a green "something" heading away from him in the tunnel he had just entered. Immediately those loyal to him followed, regardless of who their leader was supposed to be.

"_Kisama_! After them!" Miyake ordered, and he and his men prepared to follow-- but Don's laughter floated down once again.

"I wouldn't go that way if I were you!" he cheerfully informed them-- just as a fierce, strange roar, followed by many screams, echoed back up the tunnel to the drainage junction.

"Aww, MAN! I wanted that big ugly dude!" Raph complained. "He obviously was the real leader. I was lookin' forward to handin' him his head."

Miyake, looking around wildly as his companions shifted nervously, wondering what could cause trained ninja to scream like frightened children like that, spotted the Turtle seated high above him, lazily dangling a leg out of the pipe he was watching them from. He waved cheerfully at them.

"There's still this group, Raphy," Don replied, and now Miyake saw the second Turtle-- on the same level as them, and close, too.

In fact, Miyake had barely turned to see him when three of his own men were knocked forcefully into the swirling water of the drainage junction by the skillfully wielded bo of the Turtle.

There was no need to order the attack. Don was quickly engaged-- and just as quickly joined by Raph, leaping down from above to land on top of Miyake.

"Hi there," he said happily, smashing the device even as he slammed the leader into the metal grating floor of the catwalk. "Nice ta meetcha."

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Splinter had been leading this group on for three hours now. They were a determined bunch, he gave them that. Twice they had argued about giving up, of knowing that the so-called "injured" _nezumi_ was just a ruse, only to be ordered by the leader to "quit arguing! Mistress Karai has ordered this! The scientist and the Rat must both be captured!"

__

Hmm... I understand her desire to obtain the unfortunate Dr. Baker, but what could she possibly want with me? Splinter mused, as he lay in wait for them to pass him by-- which they eventually did. He debated briefly on how much of a lead he should give them before following, then chose what he considered the right moment to begin to ghost them.

They had been very unhappy when their fancy tracking device had suddenly slipped from the leader's hands and been damaged. When they had risked a light to examine the machine, a shiny shuirken alerted them to the fact that someone with better vision in the dark than even their special "night goggles" was present.

Three more shuirken had found their way into two of their number; one was hit in the neck, the other the neck and between the eyes!

Then the chase was on!

Splinter was pretty sure that he had killed the one ninja. With any luck, the other had joined him. But now he was more concerned with luring the others away and either disposing of them or at least making sure they became so hopelessly lost that they would leave the system.

When the Foot began to lag, Splinter used the old trick of appearing to have injured his leg. It worked for a short time, to the detriment of his pursuers. Now only nine of the original fourteen were actively following him-- and giving their leader more and more grief about it.

"He is not normal! We are following an _oni_," one of the ninja argued, anger mixed with fear.

"Fool! This creature bleeds! I have fought with it before!" the leader bragged.

"Yes, and lost!" the emboldened underling challenged. "This is a failed mission! He leads us further and further from our mission!"

"Our mission is to capture it alive! The Mistress has spoken!"

"The Mistress is a fool!" came the angry pronouncement, and all the Foot stopped in their tracks, suddenly eyeing each other as possible enemies. "Ever since she took control, she has wasted our men's lives in this stupid _kataki_!"

The fight between those loyal to Karai and those who had doubts about her leadership abilities was swift and deadly.

Now Splinter only had five to deal with; the leader and his four followers.

Silently he followed the group, on the alert. They would not keep this direction for long. He risked capture if they realized that they had been deceived.

He knew that they were literally miles from the lair. They could not find their way there save by accident. It was up to Splinter to lure them further away.

"Or get them recalled," he suddenly murmured, and immediately backtracked to the place where the group had fallen out. Quickly searching the bodies, he found what he was looking for-- a communication device. Quickly he disappeared into the shadows of the system, confident that the ones searching for him could not follow.

Risking the trip, he made his way to the surface, coming out in one of the hundreds of typical alleys that were spread all over the city. A few leaps, and he was on a rusty fire escape, and before anyone might notice, he was soon on the roof of the building, safely out of sight.

The night air was crisp and cold and stung in his nostrils as he studied the device. It should not be too hard to remember which button to push-- he had seen them use these before. All he needed to do was--

A shrill beeping suddenly emitted from the device, startling the Master. Recovering, he flipped the communicator open.

"Report!"

The voice was unmistakable: Karai!

Her tone, even in that one word, indicated to Splinter that her patience was close to breaking.

"We have encountered the one called Leonardo," came a reply, and for a few seconds Splinter's blood ran as cold as the air around him. "We were not successful, Mistress. He has eluded us. Seven of our team are dead. Our tracking device was destroyed. We are far from where we entered the system."

The words that shot out of the communicator were shockingly bad! Splinter held the phone away from his delicate ear, looking at it in surprise. He had no idea that Karai could swear like that!

"We... we have encountered... two of the Turtles," Miyake's voice, weak and full of pain, now sounded from the device. Splinter put it back to his ear to listen better. "We failed. We..."

Silence. Grimly, Splinter knew that his sons had done what was needed. Just as he had done. Just as Leonardo had had to do.

"Miyake! Report! Report! RYU! Report! SOMEONE report!"

"Mistress, Ryu is no more," came a voice that sounded as if the speaker were struggling hard to keep its tone calm. But Splinter could detect the tremor in it. "We were attacked by a _wani_-- a monstrous _wani_! Mistress, there are only two of us left. We await your orders."

_Yes, curry favor; perhaps she will not order you to kill yourselves_, Splinter shook his head. Then, he smiled.

"Mistress," he spoke into the device. "I have encountered fourteen of your Foot. I can account for five of them, but the others had a disagreement about your leadership abilities. I regret to inform you that I have lost track of the remaining five. I await your orders."

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Leo sat on a high catwalk at the old drainage junction, cleaning the last of the blood from his katana. He gazed down at the old place; even in the poor light, he could make out the old damage that the mousers had inflicted on the structures, when they had cornered Master Splinter here that fateful day their old home had been destroyed.

Fortunately, the collapsed section that led to the lower corridor had been taken care of by him and Donatello shortly after they had moved to the new lair. No sense in allowing anyone to find their way by accident to their location.

He remembered how they had leaped down that unknown hole, following Splinter unquestioningly when he had jumped into it after informing them that he wished to "take you home."

The slide had been fun! Mikey wanted to do it again and again, and had protested when Don said that the way should be blocked to further protect them.

Now, he sat there, wondering how many bodies they were going to have to dispose of, and trying not to think of Karai.

He laughed to himself. _ Do not think of an elephant for the next five minutes. Right._

She is going to be pissed for sure. This will only increase her determination to bring us down. Perhaps I should just go challenge her directly, get it over with.

Again, he could not understand her determination to revenge her father upon them. Oroku Saki was still alive-- he deserved to be dead, but the Utroms had chosen exile. Who was he to question?

Yet Karai, despite everything she had learned about her "father", continued on this pointless vendetta.

"And now, she will be even more determined," he said softly.

His shell cell beeped once. Flipping it open, he was greeted by the voice of a brother.

"Dude, game over! Karai just called in the survivors."

"What about the bodies?"

"No problem. She's already sent in recovery teams to remove what's left of them."

"What's left?"

"Well, you know L.H.," Mikey said matter-of-factly. "Plus I guess a few got washed away in the drainage junction. At least, that's what Raph says.

"If there are more lurking around, how do we get home without--" Leo began, but Mikey interrupted.

"You have to ask? Don's taken care of it," he replied without further explanation. "Anyway, don't make a parade of it. Splinter still expects you to be all stealthy ninja about getting home. Oh, and he says you had better be there before he is. After all, you're still grounded."

And Mikey, with a laugh, hung up before Leo could sputter a reply.


	32. Chapter 32

_Yes, can you believe it, I've actually updated this. TMNT are the property of Mirage. OCs are mine. "The Lost Season" is freakin' AWESOME_

**Calculations**

Mike stood at the stove, monitoring the progress of his bacon.

Time was the tasty meat was a rarity; since becoming family with April and Casey, things had become decidedly easier food/wise. Oh, Splinter had done well by them all growing up, and once they were old enough to start helping with the scavenging, they had managed to secure a decent amount of edible food.

But this!

Mikey carefully moved the sizzling slices to a waiting paper towel, where he carefully patted away the excess grease. Then, toast well-mayonaised and tomato slices at the ready, he finished building his late-night snack, and after a quick clean up he sat at the kitchen table and dug in.

Yum! This was just what he needed! They'd been out in the system, ranging far and wide, making sure that there were no remaining Foot or tracing devices of any kind. They'd been given specific areas to cover, and Mike's had extended for approximately ten miles along the main section, checking and rechecking the security systems, noting where recent work had been done and making sure that it was the City and not Karai's little pet-geek's handiwork, making sure that there was no way their home could be discovered. Just because they were in an older section far below other levels of the normal system did not make them complacent.

Chewing a mouthful of crisp toast and nicely cooked bacon, Mike sighed tiredly. It had been long, tedious, boring work, but he'd made sure that he'd done his best and had treated it seriously. That battle with the Foot had been a surprise-- if he had not been out that night with L.H., who knows how things would have turned out.

Don had been given enough of a warning from Mike to flip the switch on one of his latest projects. Soon the security beacons were giving off signals that scrambled the tracing devices the Foot had been relying on, sending them in directions that not only led them far from their home, but kept them running into each other as they fruitlessly searched.

Crunch-crunch-chew-swallow. Mike reached for his soda, hesitated-- then got up and retrieved one of Raph's precious Japanese beers. He had worked hard today, and he figured that it was worth risking his brother's anger to wash the sandwich down with the brew.

Besides, it would help him sleep.

The battle with the Foot had been bloody but necessary. Mikey did not enjoy the killing-- he liked a good fight, but he did not enjoy the death that went along with it.

Washing the blood away into the system had been one of their first jobs. Fortunately for them, Karai did not leave her dead to rot abandoned and unmourned in the depths of the sewers, though whether she did this from a sense of honor or just wished to make sure that they were not discovered by city workers and eventually traced back to herself, Mike neither knew nor cared. All he knew was, he had NOT had to dispose of bodies, and that was a plus in his book.

"Hey, Raph is gonna skin you alive," Don's voice broke into Mike's thoughts. The brainy turtle joined Mike at the table, where the younger brother wordlessly and generously offered half of his half-eaten masterpiece. Don politely declined-- eating this late at night never did sit well on his stomach. "You made sure everything was secure?"

Mike swallowed even as he nodded.

"Quadruple-checked," he said, taking a pull on the bottle of cold beer. The bitter taste seemed to compliment the smoky flavor of the cured meat. It went down smoothly and made the turtle feel comfortable. "Really, Don, there is no way Karai can find us-- not even if she uses bloodhounds. 'Sides, you are the best! That dude Chaplin has nothing on Hamato Donatello!"

Don shook his head against his brother's praise, suppressing a yawn. He, too, had been out, though he had gone farther and worked longer than the others had. His self-appointed task had been the side channels, the lesser-known and disused tunnels. He didn't like putting up too many security devices-- the more that were installed, the more chances someone had of accidentally discovering one, and he did not relish the idea of being discovered because of a plethora of security.

"Well, I guess I'm being overly cautious," he said, stretching. "And Shredder's Foot couldn't find this place, that time we were forced out of the sewers. I'm just worried that she will keep this up."

"Yeah, she's sure to want payback and soon," Mike agreed, finishing up his late-night meal, brushing stray crumbs from the table into his hand and then carrying them to the trash. He used to just brush them onto the floor, until Splinter caught him doing it-- he could still remember how much his tail hurt, and he had not relished sweeping every room in their home three times a day for a week. For one thing, sweeping Raph's room had almost required the use of a shovel instead of a broom. And three times a day at that! Raph had made sure that Mike had plenty to deal with.

"Yes, we've given her group two defeats," Don nodded. "She's not going to take that lying down. We'll have to lay low for some time. At least we have the Underground City to flee to if we need---"

"No, thanks! I'll stay here and fight to the death," Mike vowed. Nothing-- NOTHING-- was going to get HIM back down to that Elentian hellhole! NOTHING!

"And besides, she's not gonna find us," Mike avowed, disposing of the now empty beer bottle in the recycling bin. "You are just too good. Night!"

And Mikey, unwavering confidence in his older brother's abilities filling him to the brim, went cheerfully to bed.

Don sighed, then fetched one of Raph's precious beers and poured himself a drink. He only wished that he felt as confident as his younger brother. Don was scientist enough to know that things are never certain.

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Chaplin stood in Karai's office, wondering if she would continue in the tradition of her father. He remembered when he'd come aboard, how Hun told him the story of Stockman's "failures", as well as the various punishments that the Master had dealt out. The brain in a jar had, however, pretty much been the result of Stockman's placing his own battered body into a gigantic killing machine of a robot body. He had thought to deal with everyone, and ended up going against a briefly united Shredder and Turtles, and wound up technically dead-- save for the strange ability of the technology that had kept his head "alive".

And then, though Stockman had managed to acquire a NEW robot body, he had been dumb enough to try to settle old scores-- and had wound up in a floating goldfish bowl, nothing but ganglia and gray matter and one eye stalk.

Chaplin wondered how HE would like existing like that...

"Your report?" Karai's icy voice stabbed into his musings.

"Well, from examining the one remaining tracker, and listening to the survivors, I'm pretty certain that the signals were scrambled," he said, without a trace of fear or guilt. "Fascinating, really-- I'm speculating that the signals were somehow transmitted by any of the perimeter warning beacons they surely must have down there. I wish I could have gone along, I might have been able to find one. Sometimes that kind of signal can be used to trace back to the source. It's all based on--"

"I do not require a lesson, Dr. Chaplin, I need a way to find the Turtles!"

"Sorry," he said. "Anyway, from all I've learned, I think that I might be able to locate their home, but it's going to take a while. There are many equations to work out. Plus, the equipment I have in mind has to be built first."

At the look on her face, he raised a reassuring hand.

"Oh, I'm not talking about a ton of money!" he asserted, misreading her expression. "It's a matter of adapting some of the items we put together for the Shredder's plans for the Utrom home world. Mostly it's recalibrating and writing new programs. And it'll put all that lovely stuff to use. I've hated watching it sit there, unused, all this time."

Karai's eyes bored into this man; her father would have blamed him and him alone for the failure of this venture, but she knew that the true blame was with the Turtles-- and with her warring factions.

"Yes, you are right. This will take time. You are not the only one who must-- 'recalibrate'-- items. Very well. You may go."

Chaplin, with a cheery wave, headed for his beloved lab, his mind already racing with ideas for turning Donatello's cleverness against the Turtle Clan.

Karai stared at the door long after the little scientist had closed it. Then she rose and made her way to the room where the large statue of Oroku Saki stood, a shrine to a much-loved and sorely missed parent.

Lighting some incense, she bowed to the figure, then, seated on her knees, she gazed up at the well-known visage.

"Father... father, I am a failure! I have not avenged you yet. I must first purge the Foot of the disloyal, the insolent. I must halt this infighting between the ninja. Forgive me, Father. Forgive me for my failure. I will avenge you! I will avenge you by all means available to me-- both physical and spiritual!"

Pressing a button in the base of the statue, a small, well-disguised chamber revealed itself. Carefully she retrieved a glowing medallion.

The Heart of Tengu.

She had refrained from using it. She had never trusted the mystics it controlled. Shredder had respected their power, but never trusted them. He used them sparingly, and constantly warned her from little up to never rely on them.

_Their magic is great, but you must never let them become free," he told a thirteen-year-old Karai, as they demonstrated their elemental powers by battling a vicious rival gang back in Japan. Saki had decided to use them in his vendetta with the Yakuza, and it had paid off-- the crime organization completely left the Foot alone after that!_

"Always keep the Heart of Tengu safe and secure. As long as you control it, you control these five," he said, and Karai respectfully bowed. "Use them sparingly. Never rely solely on them. They are a weapon for you to wield. You must be their master, when you take control of the Foot."

"Hai, Master," she responded. Then that well-known expression came upon her face-- the one that reflected her fierce loyalty to her father. "But I will never need them! You will always be Master! Always!"

Oroku Saki smiled, and placed a hand on the girl's head. She was growing so tall!

"One day, I will return to my home world," he said, despite her stubborn shaking of her head to deny this news. "And you will rule in my stead, until my return."

"Until your return," she muttered, gazing at the large, glowing crystal. "If only I could bring that about. If only..."

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Leo attacked Splinter with great determination. The clang of katana against katana rang out in the dojo: Parry, slash, deflect, leap, spin, clash, clash, parry, slash...

"You have mastered this lesson," Splinter approved after a few more minutes of this.

Leo, panting, respectfully bowed his head, but he couldn't help thinking _I mastered that lesson a long time ago, Splinter. When are you going to teach me something new_

He had been strangely aware of a growing dissatisfaction with the lessons Splinter was giving him. No matter how good he got, Splinter seemed to think that he was not ready for more.

Leo had been learning some styles on his own, but when he would try them against Splinter, the Rat would easily beat him, then point out that he was not ready to learn those lessons just yet.

"Patience, my son! You have a long way to go before you are ready to begin such difficult training," he would always say-- and lately, those words were wearing on Leo's nerves.

Being grounded for the rest of his life wasn't helping either.

The battle with the Foot had been the first real "freedom" in some time. He had almost reveled in the battle and the carnage-- and that frightened him. He did not wish to be so hardened that he would welcome killing others.

But Splinter's tight control on him was driving him to a breaking point.

As Leo took a place on the floor, drinking from a bottle of water that Don tossed to him and watching as Splinter put Mike through his paces with the 'chuks, he carefully went over in his mind what he planned on saying tonight.

Splinter had agreed to speak with him regarding the punishment. Leo hoped to persuade his father that it had been long enough. He wanted to have the same freedom as his brothers. He couldn't be an effective leader if he were still...

_No, don't use that argument! It won't work._

He had learned his lesson. He knew that he had been acting like a spoiled brat. He was not begging for his freedom; rather he was appealing for a chance to prove himself to his father, to be allowed to show Splinter that he could trust Leo again.

He watched as Mikey demonstrated that he had mastered his current lesson, and noted that his brother glowed with pride at Splinter's words.

Leo shook his head; Mikey's lesson had been mastered by the youngest weeks ago, yet he accepted the judgment as if it were for the first time. So had Don and Raph, when they, too, had been "taught" old lessons they had mastered in the past. In fact, Raph had mastered his shortly before they had dealt with Bishop.

Had Splinter forgotten? Was he losing his memory...

"Well, naturally, it's to be expected," Mike said in response to Splinter's praise, snapping Leo out of his thoughts. "After all, I'd be a pretty sorry Battle Nexus Champion if I couldn't master my lessons!"

"You're a pretty sorry Battle Nexus Champion as it is," Raph muttered, once again feeling the shame of being beaten by his brother so long ago.

Mike merely grinned at his brother's words, but he refrained from baiting him further. He did, however, blow a kiss in Raph's direction.

Leo wondered why Mikey hadn't complained about it. He usually was the first to point out that he'd already done this lesson Aww Jeeze did he really have to do it again...

Splinter gazed at all four sons.

"You are all dismissed for the day," he said, and accepted their bows, then watched as they paid respect to the dojo and left-- all except Leonardo.

"We're still going to talk tonight, right?" he asked, suddenly nervous. He was fighting his overwhelming desire to do it now, get it over with-- but he also knew that he was too keyed up at the moment, and he might wreck his chances while he was still feeling so strangely emotional.

What was wrong with him?

Splinter nodded, accepting a bottle of water from Leonardo and drinking gratefully. It had been an active lesson, and though his sons probably thought it ridiculous after their recently defeating the Foot, Splinter had insisted on repeating old ones rather than teaching something new.

"Yes. I have not forgotten," he said. "I have not forgotten anything," he added, and Leo briefly wondered if his father had learned to read minds. "We can speak now, if you wish."

"No, I wish to wait until later," he said, hastily bowing. "It's not urgent. I can wait. I'm gonna hit the showers."

Hastily Leo headed for the bathroom. He was NOT going to blow this. He was going to do this right. He was going to wait until tonight, when he could speak calmly and sincerely.

Splinter watched his son's retreating back. But he did not have much time to wonder about things.

"Fork over the money, Mikey!"

"Raph, calm down! Don't you know that getting so angry all the time is bad for your health?"

"Yeah? Well drinkin' **my** beer is bad for **your** health!"

"Aww, c'mon, dude! I only had one!"

"Then why are TWO missin'?"

"Maybe mice?"

"Mice named MIKEY!"

"I only had ONE! Ask DON! Hey! Maybe **Don** drank it!"

A derisive snort answered this.

"Don don't drink my beer, only you do! Now fork over the money!"

"I'm not paying for more than I took!"

"Mikey!"

"OW! SENSEI!"

Splinter shook his head.

"Kids."

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_He roamed the alley in the dark, searching for food, searching for anything._

The weather was still cold, but the night was clear and cloudless. He filled his bags with as much as he could carry. It was a good night for finding enough for himself as well as his friends.

They, too, were out scavenging, but as usual he would bring back enough for the young and the ill.

This alley was well-stocked with dumpsters, and a door from a popular restaurant opened frequently, as the kitchen help disposed of much that was still good.

He was not alone in searching these bins; he saw a ragged figure crouching in the shadows-- small, thin, and holding her own bag.

He had learned to identify females. He left all alone who left him alone-- unless they invaded his sanctuary, and then, if they did not escape, they stayed as food.

But away from his home, he left the others alone.

The door closed; the figure, fearless but wary, began to search and scavenge as quickly as she could, filling her bag while keeping her eyes on the door, then the alley entrance, then him.

He ignored her, but was aware of her. He resumed filling his own bags.

He heard the approach before she did; he vanished quickly, bags well-hidden.

The woman was not as lucky.

"Hey! I tole ya 'bout workin' this place!" a harsh, hard voice startled her. A rough hand grabbed her wrist before she could bolt; with the other hand the man wrenched the bag of food from her, then threw her against the dumpster, heedless of the noise, not caring if anyone heard. From experience he knew the kitchen staff would not interfere-- not if they wanted to live.

"Please, I just need enough for the kids," she hopelessly said, hurting from the hard contact with the cold metal of the dumpster. The man, strong, tall, well-muscled in spite of living on the street, stepped forward and backhanded her across the face, sending her staggering back several feet, where she collapsed onto the filthy ground.

"Ya wanna get this, ya gotta earn it-- and you know that!"

She raised her head, strangely defiant.

"I'll let my kids starve before I screw you for garbage, bastard!" she spat. "If I'm gonna whore myself out, I'll do it for money, not scraps!"

The man moved towards her. His steps led him under a fire escape--

And then he was snatched from the ground and vanished from the frightened woman's sight-- but not from her hearing.

"JESUS CHRIST! Who are YOU?"

A strange, echoing, vicious laugh was the response, followed by the sound of violence and much screaming for help.

The woman scooted backwards and up against a dumpster, hugging herself as the struggle took place somewhere above her. She didn't bother looking to see if anyone in the surrounding buildings were looking from their windows; she kept telling herself to run, to get out of the alley-- but her path led under that fire escape, where the screams were coming from.

Then a particularly loud scream, abruptly cut off-- then a shapeless body hit the ground in front of her.

Then **he** landed, catlike, and calmly moved to his stash of food. Taking one of the bags, he turned and tossed it to the woman.

"Go. Now."

His voice was grating, almost inhuman. She stared, frozen, as this man finished filling his bag, unconcerned with the approaching sound of sirens.

She couldn't move.

Finished, he turned to go, then looked at her again.

"Go. Now," he urged again.

He leapt up to the fire escape, and she could hear him making his way up to the roof of the building.

Quickly she scrambled to her feet, grabbing the bag.

"Who are you?" she suddenly shouted, staring up at the sky.

A silhouette appeared above her, to the right, leaning over the edge of the structure. She stood there, staring, as the sirens grew louder and louder.

"Who are you?"

"I am the Monster," he said simply. Then he was gone.


	33. Chapter 33

__

I'm older now-- another birthday has come and gone-- and yet, Mirage still owns TMNT, Leatherhead, Honeycutt, Hun, and the Rat King (as well as that well-known phrase "everyone fears me-- except the rats"). I own Baker, Tony, the unnamed Purple Dragon, and a whole lot of trouble IRL. heavy sigh

**Cynosure**

Leo sat, mentally holding his breath, as Splinter considered all that he had said.

Looking back over it in his mind, Leo was sure he had made his case in an adult manner, with just enough humility, no arrogance, and not one drop of pleading. He had rehearsed it enough times, even going to Raph for suggestions.

__

"First suggestion: Don't go to Mike about this."

"I'm trying to get OUT of grounding, not get more."

Splinter sighed and looked at Leonardo. His son had made many excellent points and accurate (though, to Splinter, rather painful) statements regarding this entire situation. But he had done it in a respectful, calm, and "adult" manner. He must have practiced this speech with the same determination and single-focused dedication he devoted to his lessons.

__

So, how do I do this without "relinquishing" my parental authority in the eyes of the others?

"Very well," he voiced carefully, and Leo had to squeeze his hands to the floor to keep from becoming overly excited. "For two weeks-- merely two weeks-- you may go above ground with any of your brothers. You may travel the tunnels on your own, but I insist on your going with at least one of the others when you surface. I am adamant on that point. At the end of those two weeks, you will have fulfilled your punishment."

Leo took several careful breaths. Better than he had hoped, and yet still disappointing.

But he recognized the glint in Splinter's eye, the one that dared him to complain or protest or otherwise reject even this condition.

Leo bowed down to the floor, forehead touching the stone lightly.

__

"Arigatou gozaimasu," he said gratefully.

Freedom!

Splinter kept his face neutral as he called in the other three. He waited until all were arranged, then spoke.

"I do not want any of you above ground for the next few weeks," he said. "Karai and the Foot will be everywhere. They were too close the last time, and I do not wish another battle, especially in the sewers. I do not envision her sending them back in, but they will most definitely be watching as many exits as possible."

"What?"

Leo, wondering who had been rude enough to interrupt Splinter with such an outburst, realized that everyone was staring at **him**.

"I mean no disrespect," he said quickly, bowing. "Please forgive the outburst. But Master, we need to keep an eye out for them. If, as you suppose, they will not return to the sewers, we need to make sure--"

Splinter held up a quieting hand.

"There are ways to watch one's enemies, without exposing oneself," he told Leonardo, and then glanced at Donatello, who managed to keep the smug feeling he was experiencing from showing on his face.

"Everything is in place," he said, when Splinter indicated that he should speak. "Raph and I got it installed safely, and it's been transmitting fairly well. Also, Casey and April know not to come visit as they're probably being watched. Of course, we have no proof of that, but better safe than sorry."

Splinter nodded even as Leo suppressed all his turbulent questions that threatened to burst forth ("_When did you install something with Raph? Where did you install it? Why wasn't I told, I'm the leader! Does this 'no going above ground for any of us' eat up my two-week baby-sitter requirement, or does it begin as soon as you give the all-clear?_"). He did, however, finally manage to form a question relatively free of hostility.

"What does this top secret project do?" he asked, keeping his eyes carefully on Don.

Don allowed himself a smirk.

"Oh, it's fantastic! You know that listening device I put into that temporary place the Foot were camped out? Well, Raph and I installed an even more sophisticated one-- INSIDE of the Oroku Saki Memorial Library! Right under their very noses!"

"No way! Dudes, you rule!" Mike laughed, slapping his brainy brother on the back in pride and congratulations and nearly knocking him forward. He made to do the same with Raph, but as his hand drew close to him, the older turtle, without taking his eyes from Splinter, blocked the move and then knocked Mike backwards onto his back. "Ow! Hey!"

"Michelangelo," was all Splinter said, as the youngest sat up, rubbing his plastron from the blow and the back of his head from its contact with the floor. Mike glared at Raph, then reseated himself, scooting closer to Don.

"And how will this help us?" Leo asked. "Do the Foot hang out in the library?"

Don looked at Leo, recognizing the tone in his voice. But he would not be the one to egg Leo on.

"Raph and I infiltrated the upper levels-- where the Foot train."

"What? Are you two mad? They could have caught you! The security-- how do you know they didn't see you? That place--"

"Leonardo!" Splinter snapped, and Leo shut his mouth-- but everyone could see from the look on his face that he was not happy. Raph and Don had done something HE should have been in on! They had gone somewhere that HE should have led them too, had ENTERED the very place that HE had been grounded for by visiting the outside of it in the first place!

"We went that night, after Karai called in her men," Raph explained. He had known that Leo would not be happy to find out that he'd been left out of something that normally would have fallen to him. "We managed to get in while they was carryin' in the large number of casualties. The cameras was off. We even heard Karai order it. Guess she don't want no video proof of yet another defeat."

"And besides, the day I can't get past a security camera is the day I hang up my reputation as a genius," Don said sincerely.

"Still, you didn't place it in her office," Leo persisted. "You said you placed it on their training floor. That's hardly the place to learn anything!"

"Actually, we placed it in their bathroom," Don said. "And we've already learned a lot."

Mike made a gagging sound.

"The BATHROOM? Ewww-- so we gotta listen as the Foot take dumps and such? Gross! I can just imagine the kind of information you've learned: 'Hey, Bob! I don't remember eating corn for dinner last night!'"

"Michelangelo, twenty flips!" Splinter ordered, brows drawn together in that way they all knew too well.

"Mike has a point," Leo said. "What can you learn in the bathroom? You should have found a way to install it closer to Karai's place."

"Leo, it's not been twenty-four hours since we did it, and we've learned a lot," Don insisted. "Listening to the Foot as they discuss what's going on has already gotten us the information that Karai is planning a purge of her organization. There's still that infighting going on, and it sounds like she's blaming the warring groups for her latest defeat. I've already found out that one group is planning a coup. They're only waiting for the word from the head Elite Foot-- you know, that guy with the cool hat? He was the one who was running the Foot that first time when we thought Shredder was finished."

"Yeah, and the other group, the ones loyal to Karai, are lookin' forward to killin' the 'gaijin' Foot," Raph chuckled, then he looked to Splinter. "We may not have to stay hidden after all if it all breaks soon."

"Never the less, we will stay below ground until it appears safe," Splinter decided. "We cannot put our hopes in such 'bathroom gossip'. But it would, as you say, be beneficial to us if it were to take place. Such a thing might even draw the attention of the authorities. Let us make sure that we are not the ones the authorities discover."

With that, they were dismissed-- except Mike, who was ordered to launch into his twenty flips as soon as the other three left.

Leo did his best to keep from bolting from the room. He managed to maintain a normal pace as he exited-- and then, once out of Splinter's sight, he was out the door and down the tunnels.

He would roam as he hadn't roamed in some time. He raced in no particular direction, he just had to get away, get away from the immediate hearing of his father and brothers, get away from the words that kept whining in his mind: I'm the leader! I should have led that mission!

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Baker needed to contact his friend. It'd been weeks, and apart from the one brief message the Turtles had delivered for him, he had pretty much been cut off from the World.

When the Crocodile had warned him and the Android to stay hidden, that the Foot had invaded the system, he had briefly toyed with the idea of slipping out of the sewers in the confusion. He had been treated well, but he needed to go. He needed to move, to go back to what he'd been doing, to trying to make up for things.

He felt trapped by his need to stay hidden. This had been the safest he'd been since this entire thing began, and yet he longed to be gone, to be on the move, to be out of here.

__

I wonder how the soup kitchen's been getting along? I need to get back to it.

"Please, there must be some way I can contact my friend," he said again to Leatherhead and Honeycutt. The two exchanged glances.

"It really is not safe," Honeycutt said yet again. "This battle with the Foot Ninja makes it impossible for our friends to take you above ground. And phoning from this location is equally dangerous. Calls can be traced."

"My friend would not trace the call."

Honeycutt did not offer the opinion that he believed that she would. He merely reiterated that it was impossible at the moment.

Baker began to feel the need to pace. He had spent so many months on the run that he was going stir-crazy being cooped up like this.

Instead, he abruptly went to the room that had been given over to him, and sat on the bed, mind racing with so many plans that he could not focus on one for many minutes.

Eventually a simple plan made itself known. Leatherhead would be going to the Turtles place later. On the way one passed through a large draining junction, with many ladders leading upwards. One in particular terminated at an opening that Baker was pretty certain the Crocodile could not fit through. He would ask to go along, that he might talk with the Rat.

And on the way, he'd pause to tie his shoe. The Crocodile would do as usual, and walk on ahead, trusting the scientist to catch up.

And by the time he realized that it was not going to be as usual, Baker could be most of the way up the ladder. He was confident that he could out-climb the large mutated reptile, and then, through the opening, make for the closest ladder to the top, and he'd be street level.

"And I would come back, just to prove to them that they can trust me to keep quiet," he said to himself. "I just need to call her. I just need to hear her voice."

He sighed, laying down on the bed.

"I just need to hear ANY human voice."

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"... and I was unable to catch him," Leatherhead finished. He was still angry with Baker as well as himself, but he was containing it. He bowed his head to Splinter. "I am so sorry."

Splinter laid a hand on the Crocodile's massive arm.

"We should not be surprised, I suppose," he said. "We should never have brought him here in the first place. I do not like the idea that, once above ground, he could find his way back. It is hard enough being on guard against the Foot."

"If the Foot find him, the pressure on us'll be off," Mike hopefully stated. Then he frowned. "Unless they decided that he might know the way back. Man! And I thought he was so brilliant!"

Don shook his head.

"What do we do?"

"Wait for Raphael to report in," Splinter decided. As soon as the news had reached them, Raphael had been dispatched to see if he could pick up the trail. Leonardo would have been asked to go as well, but unfortunately he had not returned from his "run"-- and he wasn't answering his shell-cell.

Splinter fought down the desire to revoke his son's privileges to roam the tunnels unsupervised-- he had given his word, and Leonardo was not doing anything "wrong"-- and pondered their options.

"We may have no choice but to give him up as lost," he said finally. "I doubt that, even if tortured, he would be able to lead anyone back to us. We must be even more on guard, however."

The sound of a ringing phone interrupted them, and Don was quick to answer.

"No luck," Raph's voice sounded loud from the device; Splinter could hear it from where he was sitting. Don cringed in startled surprise, then glared as Mikey cracked up laughing.

"Hold on," Don said. "YOUR brother set the volume on high-- again."

"You and Leo are my only bros, Don," came the eardrum-piercing reply.

"HEY!"

Don adjusted the volume.

"There-- yeah, I plan on it-- yeah?-- damn-- really? Well, that's hopeful!-- Okay-- okay-- I will-- bye."

He looked at his father.

"Raph found his trail of sorts, but wasn't able to find him," he said. "But he found evidence that Leo had been that way. He wasn't sure if it was before Baker or after, but he's followed both as far as he could before he lost the trail. It looks to Raph as if Leo had run into Baker, and is now going with him. But Raph's not sure if Leo is bringing him back by some other route, or if they've surfaced. Raph's been up every ladder that leads to an exit along the route, just enough to scan the area, but he can't find anything that indicates if they exited or not."

Splinter nodded. If Leonardo had run into the scientist, he might have volunteered to escort him somewhere topside where he could phone his friend-- despite his agreeing to stay below ground!

"If Leo went with Baker," Mike said, as if reading Splinter's mind, "he probably thought it would be better to do so. I mean, what if Baker was determined? I mean, I know that Leo doesn't like the guy, but I doubt he'd really hurt him, right?"

Splinter took a deep breath, as if calming himself.

"Donatello, please bring us some tea," he said as mildly as possible in response to Mike's defense of the eldest.

Don could tell that Splinter thought Leo had gone topside.

"We have no proof that Leo left the tunnels," Don pointed out. "Nor Baker for that matter. Leo could just be walking with the guy, trying to convince him to have more patience."

__

And if he isn't, I don't think I want to see what will happen this time. Maybe I'm finally getting over my anger with Leo, Don thought to himself.

Then, as he watched the telltale signs of Splinter's displeasure, he found himself wondering if there were any popcorn left. He smiled suddenly.

__

Nope-- I haven't.

"Oh, Mike," he said, as he rose to go fetch the tea that Splinter requested. "Raph said to give you this." And he gave his youngest brother a resounding smack on the back of his head, and was followed out of the room by Mike's yowl of pain and cries of protest at such treatment.

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"Master Hun? You ain't gonna believe this, but me and Tony are at that old foundry place, checkin' it out, right? Anyways, we're checkin' it out, and it's totally clean of graffiti and stuff-- but we found some human bones!-- Yea, I know what they look like-- it's kinda hard ta mistake a human skull!-- NO! NO, Sir, I wasn't disrespectin' ya! Sorry, Master Hun! Anyways, we found these bones, and so we move around careful, weapons out, ya know? And we ran into RATS! FREAKIN' THOUSANDS of RATS!-- No, that's not the-- see, they was being ORDERED to attack us!-- Really, Master Hun!-- That's the weirdest part of all. See, there was this freakin' MONSTER or somethin' standing there, pointin' at us, and then THOUSANDS of them furry bastards was chargin' right towards us!-- no, sir, we ain't been drinkin' OR usin'! You know we're clean!-- We shot a mess of them, but they kept comin'!-- YES, we tried to shoot the guy as well, but he VANISHED! Literally!-- Yeah, like the way the Foot Techs can! Only he ain't no Foot Tech!-- We're still in the neighborhood, but me and Tony got the hell outta there as quick as-- yes?-- Yes?-- Okay, boss-- I mean, Master Hun. We'll take care of it."

Tony, still shaking from the experience, stared at his partner. Though the heater was going full blast in the car, the Purple Dragon still felt chilled through and through.

"What? We ain't gotta go back IN there?" he nearly whined. His partner looked at him, tempted to make fun of his frightened look-- except he suspected that he, too, wore the same expression.

"Naw, we're ta get some equipment and set up an observation post. Hun wants to know more about this guy. He wants this foundry, but he don't need to draw the attention of the cops by goin' in there and makin' a scene."

"Damn. Things was much easier when we was just a regular old gang," Tony complained, as he put the car in gear and began the drive back to headquarters.

"I hear ya, bro. I hear ya."

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__

More of these Others! MORE! And they killed his friends.

They would have to be on guard. Those Others would be back. He could tell. They were the type.

And he would be ready for them. He and his friends.

This he vowed. He was The Monster! Everyone would fear him!

Except the rats. They were his friends. His family. And he would protect his family at all costs.


	34. Chapter 34

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Nuts! My one site where I go for my unusual C words is gone! Someone call the FBI!!! I found some others, but eh, it's not the same. Ah well...

TMNT and all their characters are the property of Mirage-- though they should lose custody because they allowed "Fast Forward" to happen...

**Concilliabule (part one)**

"It's just that I get tired of not being out in the open."

"I understand completely."

"I mean, it's not like I had a lot of freedom to do as I wanted-- considering my line of work-- but what I had was precious to me."

"Yes, mine as well. But you **did** promise..."

"I know! But-- These past few months have been the worst of them all. Things had been rather comfortable-- almost normal in a way. Then, with the death of Bishop-- I **truly** thought things would be different, but my confinement became almost prison-like."

"Yes. 'Prison-like'. That is how it has felt for me as well. I, too, thought things would be different."

Baker looked at the young turtle, a slight hope in his eyes.

"Then you understand why I need to get out, just for a few minutes-- just long enough to phone my friend! Please! We could go together!"

Leonardo shook his head firmly.

"You made a promise-- as did I. I would love to go-- you have no idea-- but I swore to my master that I would abide by his decision. And for the safety of my family as well as for you, I cannot allow you to go topside like this."

The man dejectedly studied the turtle. He knew that against this youth he stood no chance of reaching the surface. It was all too much. He could feel himself folding in; feel the weight of everything beginning to crush him down, to drive him into the darkness of despair...

"Let's go see Master Splinter," Leo's voice cut into the self-pity like a ray of light. "Let's go see if something can be worked out. Please-- let's go ask. What can it hurt?"

__

Besides, I do not wish to have to hurt you, he added mentally to himself.

Baker knew it was hopeless, but he agreed.

They had met up by accident-- Baker had become confused, and stood just outside of a large drainage junction, trying to decide if he should climb the ladder before him, or try another, when the Ninja had found him. Wordlessly they had regarded each other-- then Leo had motioned to the scientist, and they had gone for a walk.

To his credit, the turtle had seen that the man was not ready to return to the others. He, too, had felt this reluctance to go home. The run in the sewers had done much for his immediate anger and disappointment, but there was still an underlying hurt at the turn of events.

They had walked and talked, and Leo began to see that there were others who were "trapped" by promises and conditions and circumstances-- that he wasn't alone as it were.

And, in listening to the complaints and pleadings of the man in response to Leo's adamant assertion that Baker would NOT be allowed to go topside for many good reasons, he had heard himself-- and began to understand just a tiny bit what Splinter must be feeling.

__

But I'm not telling **Splinter** that.

They slowly made their way home, running into Raph in the process.

"Good," Raph said, falling in beside them easily. "I thought I was gonna have to drag this guy back kickin' and screamin'."

Leo resisted the urge to wonder if Raph had been sent out to look for **him**-- but he had calmed down enough to see that that was a self-centered thought. Of course Raph had been out tracking this man. Baker had told Leo how he had tricked Leatherhead and "escaped".

"That's the trouble with you sometimes, bro," Leo managed to smile. "You act too emotionally."

He ignored the pointed look from his brother. Thanks to the presence of the scientist, Raph was unable to address this properly.

But LATER, he was gonna have a nice lil' chat with Fearless Leader.

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Several days passed, and for the ones living underground they had been rather uneventful-- except for that brief flair-up, where Mike managed to piss Raph off to the point of the older turtle's beginning to plan the younger's "memorial" service.

Baker had been assured that, if he would just wait a few more days, until it appeared that things topside had settled down, that he, personally, would go with the scientist to a "safe" spot from where he could phone his friend. In the meantime, April was given the information needed to make brief contact with this mysterious woman in the scientist's life, and cautioned against phoning from her home-- "I never really thought about it, but it would be within her ability to trace the calls," he had finally admitted. "And I don't wish to drag anyone into this mess any further than they've already become involved."

Meanwhile, when he wasn't being threatened with immediate and painful death at the hands of the still angry Raphael, Mike was putting the finishing touches on the memorial service for Victor. It seemed as if he'd been planning this forever. All the stuff that had happened since he first came up with this idea sure had pushed it far to the back of his agenda.

April refused to buy anymore flowers. The wreath was ready and had better be used, bucko, or there would be hell to pay!

Splinter, also, was adamant that the ceremony finally take place.

"Either do this, or cancel it for good," he had said. "You have made his spirit wait long enough. And you have strained the bonds of friendship and family with your insistence that this creature we have encountered is really your friend."

Mike sighed even as he finished stocking the fridge with the ingredients for the memorial food. He would do the prep work in a little bit, getting the special homemade pizza ready for the oven-- then it would only take a little bit of time to cook it after the ceremony.

The copy of "Frankenstein" was sealed into its soon-to-be underwater coffin, and Mike had worked hard on the inscription. Yet as he had struggled over the wording, the image of the man who controlled the rats kept looming before him, like a ghost from a bad dream.

_He looks like Victor-- well, yeah, those bandages around his face and head make it kinda hard to see-- but he moves like Victor-- I think-- he sounds like-- damn it!_

At this point he had thrown his pen across the room and given up, slamming doors on his way to the dojo where he beat up a heavy bag that he'd decorated with a crudely drawn caricature of Hun.

Fifteen minutes later, he was back at the writing, and had managed to compose something heartfelt and sincere. And it had made him feel better, made him feel as if a weight had lifted from his soul.

_Yes. Victor is dead. I was just trying to hold onto a ghost. Victor is dead. It's time to honor him._

Tonight would be the service. In his room, Mike laid out the special outfit that he would be donning. They would be taking a great risk, going topside to the waterfront, but things had been quiet above ground. Casey had been scoping out the area at night, and apart from the usual stuff that goes on, the Foot and the Dragons were both unusually quiet.

The news had been full of some special series of events that were taking place at the memorial library-- Karai was apparently hip-deep in well publicized charity work, and even Hun was shown in attendance of one of the glamorous events.

"That goon is seriously pissin' me off," Casey fumed as he sat on the couch later, watching yet another news report of yet another celebrity-filled evening at the Oroku Sake Memorial Library ("...tonight's gala event is benefitting the Oroku Sake Orphanage that has been set up in the late philanthropist's hometown, located in the Mikawa Provence...").

"That goon cleans up nicely, you have to admit," April couldn't help saying, as a shot of Hun in a fantastically tailored tux rubbed elbows with one of those actresses who supported several orphanages.

The downstairs was crowded with the waiting guests. Splinter, in a nice robe (Mike had insisted that Splinter wear the fancy one he'd gotten him so many years ago, but April had convinced the young turtle that it would have been too "showy" for a memorial service, and perhaps Splinter would prefer this new brown one instead...) was about to go fetch Michelangelo when he appeared on his own, decked out in the _shinishozoku_.

Everyone was quiet, looking at the self-conscious turtle. Mike grinned nervously, waiting for the cracks and trying to think of some of his own as a form of self-defense.

"You look great," Raph, to everyone's surprise, said, draping a brotherly arm around his shoulder.

Mikey grinned.

"Aww! Thanks, Bro!" he replied, and gave Raph a one-armed hug-- and a peck on the cheek as well.

"Shall we begin then?" Splinter asked, as Raph began sputtering and violently wiping his cheek with one hand.

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She was tired of this whole thing. The party was going smoothly, and she played her part well, but she was tired of this whole thing.

Her defeat at the hands of her hated enemies burned in her heart, but outwardly she appeared the consummate hostess, gracious, regal, and charming.

The purge of the disloyal from her ranks had been swift and vicious. From necessity she'd had to call in the ninja who had been assigned the task of keeping an eye out for any sign of the Turtles. Then this week of business obligations and "charity" work had interfered with her desire to return to the sewers and personally hunt down every last mutant.

Her desire to bathe her hands in the blood of Leonardo and his family had to be pushed down by her duty to her father's "legitimate" organizations.

Still nursing the same glass of champagne, she eyed Hun as he chitchatted with the rich and famous with an ease that left her feeling envious. HOW was this behemoth so comfortable in this setting? He interacted with everyone as if he'd been to the manor born; he was polite, even to the waiters, never rude or crude or overbearing. He was respectful without being ingratiating.

She smiled in amusement as she pictured the possible reactions of her guests were they to learn of his background; of his "ties" as it were to crime.

Then she shrugged it off and returned to her role as hostess, smiling charmingly and politely, listening to the Mayor of New York who had come to claim her for some conversation with visiting businessmen from Japan whom His Honor was hoping to interest in establishing commercial ties with the city.

Hun, sipping from his own glass, spotted the man he needed to speak to, engaged in a boisterous conversation with a slender brunette. Despite the "social" aspect of this little fundraiser, business was being discussed on many levels. Hun, helping himself to a few hor'dourvesfrom a tray being offered by a waiter, knew that now was as good a time as any to bring up his possibly purchasing that land with the old foundry on it.

The guy had seemed interested in selling, but not in any great hurry. Hun knew that he would have to play it careful, or the guy might raise the price beyond what it was worth. The land alone was considerably expensive, but these things had to be done carefully. There had been talk of preserving the entire site-- some historical society-losers wanted to have it declared a national landmark 'cause it'd been founded by some former slave or something...

And Hun did not wish to use it as a public place. He had big plans for establishing his own "business" there, and he wanted as little attention as possible.

As he made his way to the man, the other spotted him, and greeted him with a friendly wave.

"Hey there! Good to see you!" he slurred, slopping a bit of his champagne out of his glass as he pumped Hun's incredibly large arm in a vigorous handshake. "Oops! Sorry, pal. Lemme introduce you to my new friend-- Adele-- umm... sorry, I forgot the last name."

The woman turned towards Hun and with a shock he recognized her.

"Grant," she said smoothly, inclining her head even as she offered her hand. "And I believe we have met before."

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Mikey stood by the river, watching as the specially designed "water craft" carried away the wreath and the book. Except for the regular sounds of the river at night, it was quiet and peaceful. Cold as hell, but a clear sky.

Mike watched as the tribute floated away on the tide. He had been assured by Don that there was no way it could run up against anything in the river or become snagged on anything, or caught by some fisherman or scavenger. Leatherhead even volunteered to follow it along, despite the frigid water temperatures, but Mike had refused this kind offer.

The soft lap of water against the rocks where he stood was all he really focused on, as he strained his eyes in the dark, having lost sight of the floating tribute.

His family and friends were keeping a sharp lookout for any stray Foot, but so far they'd spied nothing. Leo in particular had taken up the most advantageous sight for being lookout, but he detected nothing.

Finally the rat made his careful way down to his youngest, and placed a paw on his shoulder.

"My son," he said softly, and Mike started ever so slightly. "We must return home now. You have completed this part of the ceremony. We must return to the warmth of our home."

Mike reluctantly tore his watering eyes from the dark flowing river and managed a nod and a smile.

"Sorry, Sensei. Guess I kind of forgot that you might be getting cold," he said, and he made his way back up to the waiting group. Then they went below ground again (Baker ever so reluctantly; this brief visit to the surface had made him even more determined to leave as soon as possible), and were soon back home, where Mike put the waiting pizza into the well-heated oven and then setting out the rest of the memorial banquet.

April came into the kitchen to help.

"It was beautiful, Mikey," she said, hugging her adopted brother and kissing his still-cold cheek. "The summoning of the ancestors, the ceremony both here and at the waterfront-- all of it. It was very touching. I'm proud of you."

Mike kind of shrugged, though he did enjoy the hug and kiss.

"It just feels..."

"Just feels what?"

Mike fussed with the sleeve of his outfit, half-confused, half-hesitant.

"I dunno. It just feels like it wasn't real. Like it was... well... like it was a play."

April studied Mike carefully.

"You mean you didn't mean it?"

"No! I did mean it! I meant every word of it," he said sincerely. And he had meant it-- he'd surprised himself how many times he'd had to keep himself from crying during it all. "I mean... well, it's like I felt... well, like I wasn't me. I mean, like I was watchin' someone playing me. I don't know how to explain it."

He sighed, and looked April in the eyes.

"I just feel like I'm still not sure he's gone. That's all."

April nodded, and hugged him again.

"I felt the same way when my father died," she said. "We did the funeral and everything. We stood by the open casket, we sang, we spoke about him, and we buried him. And yet it was hard to believe that he was gone. Even as I watched them lower him into the grave-- it was like that-- like you said. It's hard to let go."

Mike wasn't sure that April really understood what he meant. He wasn't sure that Victor **was** dead-- despite everything the others said, deep inside his stubborn brain he was certain of one thing: Victor was alive.

And living with the rats.


	35. Chapter 35

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Okay, no excuses, sorry and all that. I just realized that not only is this a LONG chapter, but I've been working on this lost cause for over a year now. But I must bravely soldier on! I will finish this! Climb every mountain, swim every sea-- finish every story-- till-- I-- find-- MY-- DREAM!!!!!

Sorry. TMNT are owned and operated by Mirage, 4Kids, Imagi, WB, and God knows who else-- I just know that, as the list grows longer, my name still does not appear on it. Grant, Baker, Sonja, Mario, and Iwamatsu are belong to me.

**Concilliabule-- Part 2**

Karai sat at her desk, regarding this woman. So **she** was the moving force behind this hunt for the missing Scientist. Karai inwardly sniffed at the agent's fashion sense-- she was trying just a little too hard, it seemed to the Foot Leader, to appear as though she were used to such clothes-- then Karai pushed aside these catty opinions and focused on the woman's words.

Hun, too, was studying Agent Grant, but not in the same manner as Karai. He was more interested in the subtle look that came over her face whenever she mentioned the late, lamented Agent Bishop. _Oh, ho! I wonder why she truly wants this guy brought back?_

He managed, however, to keep the smirk off his face as Grant finished up.

"And so, the situation has reached a highly critical point. I must have Dr. Baker at once! You say you know where he is, that he is with these mutant Turtles. Then go and get him!"

Hun and Karai exchanged looks; and the "brother" once again managed to keep the smirk off his face. Then they both turned their attention back to the woman.

"Agent Grant," Karai replied smoothly. "Your Agent Bishop knew where the Turtles were. I heard that he even flushed them out of the sewers at one point. Surely he left you this information. Why do not **you**, as you say, 'go and get him'?"

Grant frowned, but she kept all traces of anger from her voice.

"We never pinpointed the exact location. I gather that is what you are telling me as well. But you seemed to have run into them rather quickly in your last encounter-- or so **I ** have heard," she said, her tone slightly tinted with amused contempt. "In or near the same place as a previous failed encounter. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that their secret dwelling must be near that part of the river!"

Now it was Karai's turn to frown.

"You would be wrong to assume that, Agent Grant," she countered, and her voice held anger and no mistaking it; anger mixed with a healthy dose of contempt for this government agent whose job was to hunt down and eliminate aliens. Her father had been--

"My men and I-- as well as my dear 'brother' and his men--" she continued, "have had many encounters with the Turtles all over this city. It does not take a rocket scientist to know just how large of an area we are talking about!"

Each woman regarded the other as if sizing up an opponent just before a match. Hun, meanwhile, sat back in his chair, enjoying the entire show.

"We need Dr. Baker," Grant repeated. "Stockman's work--"

"Stockman?" Both Hun and Karai involuntarily repeated the name forcefully, startled into physical response. Karai nearly bolted out of her chair, and Hun gripped the armrests of his so hard he threatened to break them.

"That hack? You've got that hack working for you?" Hun nearly laughed. "That freakin' brain in a jar is working for you?" He shook his head in disbelief; how could ANYONE in their right mind...

"That traitor? That _kusottare_ who betrayed my father to your precious Agent Bishop?" Karai was saying at the same time, the expletive more than revealing the hatred that rivaled her emotions for the Turtles and their father burned for all present to see.

"Stockman's work has gone as far as it can without the knowledge of Dr. Baker," Grant replied as if the others had not spoken. "He's managed great things, but we need Baker to make any more progress."

It took Karai several minutes to regain her composure. She was seething at the knowledge that this-- this-- being-- was still alive. HOW stupid she had been, when first made aware of his condition; she had actually felt pity for the scientist.

Now it was her desire to take the jar that the disembodied brain floated in and smash it to the floor, where she would stomp the thing into a jellied mess until her shoes were ruined and her vengeance was satisfied!

Finally she pressed a button on the console. She said nothing; there was no need. Within a minute the door opened and one of her most trusted servants was bringing in a tray with tea and three cups.

Grant graciously accepted the proffered drink, but did not partake of it. Hun, as well, took his own cup, but tea had never been his favorite. Only Karai seemed to enjoy the hot, bitter beverage; it at least helped to calm her down, to center her, to put her back in control of her emotions.

"Why should I expend more of my men in this pursuit?" she asked. "Why should either of us continue to help you out?"

"For protection."

Now both Hun and Karai laughed aloud, and for a brief second Grant was startled.

"Protection?" Karai, the first to recover, repeated. "You think I need your protection?"

And in her mind, briefly, she recalled the entire sequence of events from when she and Chaplin had been returned to Earth by the Utroms-- and still her lawyers had not only managed to free the two of them, but no charges were filed! NO suspicion was harbored against her, despite the activity of her father's organization!

Hun, meanwhile, struggled to keep his face straight. While Bishop was alive he and his crew had managed to steal many things from the Government-- things that Bishop himself was protecting-- and NONE of that had ever come home to him! NONE of it!

Yet-- it would be nice, he mused, to have friends in high places... very high places indeed...

"We know enough about both of your organizations to put you out of business permanently," Grant went on. "Frankly, I do not care about either of you or your activities. My group only has one mission: to defend the Earth from alien invasion. And the key to our work lies in the brain of our leader. Progress has been made-- but we must do more!"

Grant sipped her tea, then set the cup down on Karai's desk.

"I can assure you, once we have Dr. Baker in hand, that none of the hard evidence Agent Bishop gathered about both of your organizations will ever see the light of day."

"Blackmail, Agent Grant?" Karai arched an eyebrow.

"An exchange, Ms. Oroku," she replied smoothly. "Merely an exchange of goods and services as it were. And-- any possible attention that might draw the interest of local and government authorities to yourselves, would be deflected by myself and my organization."

"Protection racket, eh?" Hun chuckled quietly. This was a new twist on an old scheme. Pay up or we'll close you down-- permanently! He looked again at Karai. "Well, 'dear sister'-- it sounds like an offer we can't refuse."

__

Oh, **I **could refuse it, she thought, but she kept her countenance and inclined her head to Hun.

"Yes, 'dear brother', I suppose that there are many merits to this proposal. However, the fact still remains that we are searching for a needle in a haystack."

Agent Grant produced from her bag a brown envelope, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of paper with two photographs attached.

"This woman is an agent in another organization," she said, passing it over to Karai. "She is Baker's contact. She is the one who brings him whatever he needs. Follow her and you will find Baker."

"It's not that easy," Hun pointed out, giving the pictures a passing glance. He had known that Baker had help, but following that particular woman had been impossible. "Believe me, I know."

"Believe, me, so do I," Grant replied. "But I have recently acquired some information that should make it easy. She is meeting with Baker soon-- in two days time, actually. I do not know the location, but you will see that her home address has been provided. I'm sure that you will have no trouble following her. Especially if you apply this to her car."

From the depths of her bag, Grant drew forth a small disc and a tracking device the size of a small cellphone.

"Even she won't discover this piece," the agent slightly gloated. "The best alien technology available. Undetectable by anything created by humans."

And Grant, as the other two examined the device, could not help but smile.

__

She had been summoned to a meeting in the building that housed the offices of several government agencies; in fact, to the office of the very person that Baker's contact worked for.

As she waited outside, she became aware that this woman was in conference with the superior. Despite the presence of the secretary and several other agents awaiting to see the Director, Grant casually slipped into her ear what appeared to be a hands free phone device, at the same time "punching" numbers on the phone in her hand. Soon she had access to the Director's inner-office.

"I'm not sure you should have called her in," Grant overheard every word in the next room with startling clarity. "She is actively seeking Baker."

"I know this," came the deep-voiced reply of the Director. "But I have no choice. The Utroms wish to send ambassadors to New York now. You remember how they would only reside in Japan-- and that was due to that zealot Bishop. Now that he is gone, they are more than willing to come here, provided that the EPL does not cause them any trouble."

"And you think she'll guarantee that?"

Grant had sniffed at the tone of disbelief in the other woman's voice. "As if I have nothing better to do than deal with those creepy brain-like blobs" she had muttered under her breath.

"I know she will," the Director had replied confidently. "Otherwise, the EPL is going to be permanently shut down."

"But Baker--"

"Look, I can't do anything on hearsay," the man cut her off. "Bring Baker in, provide me with the proof I need regarding all this genetic engineering, and we can DO something. That organization was created for one purpose only-- only that madman Bishop perverted it into something morally unacceptable. We've--"

Then a sharp static whine sounded in her ear, causing her to quickly pull the listening device away quickly. The interfering feedback apparently had coincided with the arrival of a large guard playing with a small video game.

"Hey, Sonja, seen this new game yet?"

"Mario, how may times do you have to be reprimanded for playing with that thing while on duty?" the secretary had chided him.

"I'm on my break," was the confident response. "The union says I can spend my break any way I want to short of drinking. You ready for lunch?"

"Can't today, too much work. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure-- later, babe."

"Don't call me 'babe'."

Once the man had left, Grant had quickly reestablished her connection with the other room, but nothing more was learned.

"-- two days time. I'm meeting him face-to-face this time. I'll get him to come in. I promise."

"Good. Look, Donna-- I need him if we're gonna shut down the EPL for good. I hate to ask you to do this, but..."

And then nothing more was said. The door opened, and out stepped Agent Donna Iwamatsu. She gave Grant a brief nod; they were familiar with each other, but there was no love lost. Grant had nodded in return, then been summoned into the Director's office...

"Agent Grant," Karai's voice cut through the memory, and Grant, blushing at her apparent inattentiveness, apologized.

"Agent Grant, we will do what we can," Karai continued. "But once we have obtained this man for you, we fully expect to be 'left alone'-- permanently."

"I assure you, I do not break my word," Grant replied, rising from her chair. "Thank you."

And without further word, she left.

"Trust her?" Hun asked, slightly smirking; he already knew the answer.

"Of course not," Karai confirmed. "So, shall we do this together, or would you like the honor?"

Hun smiled hugely.

"Naw-- I got plans I can't break. You take care of it-- 'sis'." And then he, too, rose from his chair. "Comin' back to the party?"

Karai shook her head.

"Not yet. I need to make a few arrangements. I will contact you when we have Baker."

Hun merely nodded, then he headed back to the party. With any luck, the business man had not left yet. Hun so wanted that property!

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Mike was carefully keeping out of trouble. He arrived for training on time, kept his clowning around to an acceptable minimum (i.e. enough to get noticed without getting grounded or pummeled), and stayed out of Don's lab to the point where the brainy turtle asked him if he was okay.

Mike had a plan, and he did NOT want to risk it by fooling around.

Splinter was going with Baker in a few days so he could meet up with his "friend". The Rat had been persuaded to let the scientist call the woman, and Don, remembering how Raph had told about her knowing about the scrambling device, was able to secure their phone so that the woman had not been able to trace the call.

Don knew this because he was listening in from his lab; he'd heard her cursing under her breath about "why won't this thing work?".

In any event, Mike was going out then to check out that foundry. That may not have been Victor-- the Victor he had known-- but he was convinced that the man controlling the rats was indeed the Slayer. He was going to prove it once and for all. And he couldn't do that if he were grounded.

But his "behavior" was not entirely lost on Leo.

Mikey, upstairs getting ready to come down, overheard Leo talking to Don. They were both directly below him.

"I think Mikey is up to something," Leo said to his brother.

"Gee, how can you tell?" came the sarcastic response.

"Hey, Don, I'm not a 'genius' like you, but even Raph has noticed that baby bro is not as annoying as usual."

Before the conversation could go further, the turtle in question dropped two water balloons he'd been planning to use on Raph directly onto the heads of the others.

The two stood there, sputtering and involuntarily shivering as the icy liquid wriggled into those sensitive and hard to reach places, the echoing boisterous evil laughter of Michelangelo fading away as the turtle vanished like a good ninja.

"You were saying?" Don said, wringing out his mask after using what dry parts there were to sop up some of the more irritating remnants of ice water.


	36. Chapter 36

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taps mike Hello? Is this thing on? Yes, it's me, Cynlee. I can't believe that I'm actually posting this. It's been a LONG writer's block, but I think I'm over it. Oh, btw-- I have not had any alerts since December 3rd, so I am behind on reading many of your stories as well. And I never know if my reviews get to you anyway. I only know that for some reason, FanFiction does not alert me to anything, or even answer my emails. But I will make every attempt to track down your own updates and catch up.

Now-- TMNT and all characters from the show are the property of Mirage. Agent Iwamatsu and Doctor Baker are mine. I'm gonna go celebrate this chapter with my sixth viewing of the movie!

**Cacotopia**

"... and so, as you can see, the cadastre is up to date."

Hun studied the documents his "agent" had presented him with, freshly delivered by the representative of the foundry's owner, and chuckled in self-depredation at himself; he certainly had not done himself any favors by not paying attention in school. _Cadastre_?

Well, he definitely was getting an education now! As he studied the survey map that listed all the surrounding blocks of properties, their owners, and current value of such for the apportioning of taxes, he shook his head. He had learned so much, and was learning more-- far more than he could ever have learned in college, it seemed.

He thanked his agent, and dismissed him from the office. Then he looked at his assistant, who also was studying this odd document, silently repeating the word "cadastre" a few times, trying to match the sound with the spelling. He, too, had become more knowledgeable over the course of time.

"Have the men reported back?"

Miller-- formerly Fang-- nodded, putting down the "cadastre" and producing a neatly typed report complete with photographs.

"They've been watchin' the place carefully. There's some kinda' guy all right. If you ask me, he looks like he's playin' a part in one of them old horror flicks!"

Hun stared at the pictures. Blurred; dark, blurred, vague-- yet he could see a figure lurking somewhere in those photos, bandaged here and there, caught in mid-stride or action, and at one point looking directly at the person taking his picture.

"This the best they can do? We gave them the finest photographic equipment available!"

"Sir, it's not the camera-- or their fault," he responded, and respectfully pointed to the photos in Hun's hand. "See? All the buildings are in focus! But the guy is-- well, it's like he blurred himself! Like there's somethin' interferin' with any attempts to film him. They tried to vid him, but it turned out the same-- and he vanished, just like the Foot Techs can!"

Miller then inserted a small memory card into the desktop's appropriate slot, pulled up the movie program, and soon Hun was watching this person in action.

"Somethin' weird about how he moves..." Hun heard his assistant say. "Like-- like he's made of liquid or somethin'..."

The figure in the dark movie moved quickly across the roof of a low building. Miller was right; he looked like he flowed rather than walked. Reaching the edge, the figure suddenly leaped into the air, twisting and summersaulting gracefully, landing on the ground with hardly a sound, landing on his feet in a way that a cat would envy.

And then he vanished!

Hun blinked; replayed the movie; slowed it down, tried to enhance it. But nothing he did could bring the guy in focus. The background buildings, the moon-- hell, even the debris on the ground was sharply focused, but this guy looked as if he were out of focus.

There was something familiar about him, though. Something nagged at Hun's memory, but he wasn't getting the message. He shook his head. It would come to him later.

"This is the guy they said was controllin' the rats?" he asked instead. Miller nodded.

"We got vid of that as well," he informed him, making a move to bring up that scene, but Hun waved him off.

"I'll watch it later," he said, brow creasing in concern. "We're supposed to go with the owner in a few days to tour the property. But if that guy is there with a shit load of rats, the City will get involved-- health officials, the press, the cops--"

"We could kill him," Miller suggested. "We could take him out quickly. We have the best weapons."

Hun was nodding in agreement-- then the nagging thought broke through.

"Bishop."

Miller looked at his boss, surprised. Hun brought down a huge fist on his desk, realization all over his face.

"Bishop! That's who this creep reminds me of-- the way he moves! Bishop..."

Hun recalled the incident: he'd been offered a second chance by Saki, a second chance to prove his loyalty. And all he had to do was rescue Karai from Bishop.

The man moved as if he weren't human! Hun had been hard-pressed to hold his own against the agent! He was powerful, and hard to hold onto. He flowed like liquid in Hun's powerful grasp, and he was quick, even quicker than Saki. If the Turtles hadn't persisted in following him...

Bishop! But Bishop was dead. Yet this guy moved like Bishop... the word "clone" kept bouncing around in his head. This was something Grant would understand, might be interested in, be able to confirm.

Hun got up and headed out, Miller right behind him, trying to keep up with his fast-moving boss.

"This is what we'll do," Hun said, leading the way to the storage area where his vast collection of weapons, vehicles, and other toys were kept. "We'll capture that rat-controlling dude and give him to Grant-- for a fee. I'm certain he must be one of Bishop's pet projects, if not his actual clone."

Miller looked around as Hun began sorting through a large white refrigerated cabinet, pulling out boxes of what he knew to be powerful tranquilizers, at the same time calling to one of his many workers to "bring the dart guns!"

He turned back to his assistant.

"We take a large group tonight-- late," he ordered. "We'll take one of those nice holding cages that Bishop had Karai in-- damn, I'm so glad I rescued that one of Shredder's from his place, though where HE got one..."

He absently tossed the "dart gun" to his assistant as he roamed the area, barking orders, making plans, and organizing the proper teams.

"But Boss, I mean, Master Hun," his harried lieutenant said, trying to keep up with the quick-moving behemoth, trying to take notes of all the commands. Hun spoke almost as quickly as he was moving. Miller hardly remembered a time he had seen the big guy so animated and excited. "What about the dosage? We don't know how much we're gonna need to bring him in alive."

Hun shrugged even as he gave the room a last look-round, then headed for the elevator to his private rooms.

"I want him alive, but I won't worry if he's killed. But we need to have him regardless. I'm certain that he will be almost as valuable to Grant as that doctor she's been searching for." He got into the lift, and looked at Miller. "I'm putting you in charge of this, Miller. Don't let me down."

And Hun, confident that his orders would be followed, left his man to get busy, while he headed to his suite to prepare for yet another business luncheon.

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"... and keep an eye on Michelangelo," Splinter ended his orders to Leonardo, even as he finished dressing for the surface. It was dark, and threatening to storm, so bundled as he was, in the company of Dr. Baker, he should be fairly unnoticeable. "He is up to something, I am certain of it."

Leonardo assured his father that it would be as he wished, and kept the comment _You always say this when you go out and leave me in charge_ to himself. Leo had a hard time not laughing; Splinter talked of Mikey as if he were still five.

Then again, recalling the recent water balloon attack on himself and Don, perhaps Splinter was on to something and not just being a worrywart.

"I still think you should let Don go along as he offered, even though he's still grounded," Leonardo said, but Splinter shook his head.

"The fewer of us going out of the sewers, the better," he replied. "I am not happy as it is that Dr. Baker is so insistent, but it may be more dangerous if we do not let him go this once. Donatello is not to follow. Keep an eye on him as well as Michelangelo."

Splinter also refrained from cautioning Leonardo against going topside alone. The two-week agreement was not complete, and yet the Rat was a worrywart; he did not wish to distrust his eldest, but these past months had been more trying to him than all the years of dealing with a rebellious Raphael.

_Well, perhaps not **that** trying..._

So Splinter merely said good-bye and made his way to Leatherhead's lair, where Dr. Baker was wearing a hole in the floor pacing back and forth, waiting for his "escort" to arrive.

"Shall I at least accompany you as far as your exit?" Leatherhead offered again, but the rat shook his head kindly.

"That should not be necessary, my friend," he replied. "It is growing colder, and though many of these tunnels are fairly warm, I would rather not risk your becoming ill".

Leatherhead merely smiled at this, and did not repeat the offer. Besides, he knew that Splinter would probably know some shortcuts that might not accommodate the huge crocodile's size, and he was just too polite to point this out, not wishing to hurt Leatherhead's feelings.

"I could at least accompany you," Honeycutt offered. "The cold will not affect me, and it might be prudent to have someone 'watch your back' as it were. I believe that I could be of service in making sure no one is nearby."

"Yes, at least allow Professor Honeycutt to go along," Leatherhead pressed. "His programing could allow him to scan the area for your enemies."

"Well... I suppose that would be prudent," Splinter agreed. He had had a similar conversation with Donatello earlier. His son had insisted that he be allowed to go with his various gadgets and tools to make sure the area was clear of any Foot activity. When Splinter had refused, pointedly citing the fact that he was still grounded, Donatello had then launched into a LONG and unintelligible explanation on how to work various items that he insisted on pressing into his Sensei's hands. Splinter had only just managed to hide them from view before leaving the Lair. And while he trusted his skills as a ninja to keep himself and the Doctor safe, it would not hurt to have an extra pair of eyes-- highly specialized ones at that.

So it was, ten minutes later, that the unusual trio were making their way through the dark tunnels, the muffled sounds of dripping water, the hurried whispered scurrying of the occasional sewer rats, and the soft shuffle of their own feet breaking the overwhelming silence between them.

Baker was too absorbed in his need to speak with his friend. His mind was crowded with overlapping questions and concerns and recalled dialogues...

__

"Why won't you just come with me?" she had asked during the most recent phone call.

"I can't trust anyone... what if you bring me in, and one of **their **agents are present? You're the one who told me that bitch Grant was there just a few days ago! I just can't--"

"They're not going to get to you! Bishop is DEAD! Their organization is still in business, true, and given the current situation with the Utroms finally willing to send delegates to New York City, it would be better to shut them down-- but Grant has pledged that the agency will not interfere in this matter. But I can't do anything to eliminate the EPL unless YOU come in--"

He shook his head, arguing and rearguing his fears over and over and over. He had been in hiding for so long, it was hard to let it go, to allow himself to trust that things would NOT be as he imagined. It mattered not that Grant and the EPL would leave the Utroms alone; HIS life was still at risk, and he **knew** that no agency in the world could protect him from Grant's-- and Bishop's-- vengeance.

His memories of that place were too ingrained on his psyche, and it was easier to live in hiding like this...

Cold; dank; dark. Weak light struggled to pierce the gloom of this section of the sewers. On the higher levels there was more light, but Splinter had chosen the lower, darker ways to lead them to their destination. The dark was not a hindrance to him, or to Professor Honeycutt, but Baker found himself stumbling every now and then, unable to see some stray debris in his path.

Drips from the ceiling found their way through the protective clothing of the man, but he seemed to not notice, his mind was that preoccupied with finally hearing the voice of his friend. He hoped that she would still be willing to help; would not bring anyone to **force** him to come in. She had threatened...

__

"If that is what it takes, I could just bring some agents with me and arrest you," she pointed out.

"Yes. You could. But there would be no guarantee that I would show myself," he had responded. "I've learned how to spot the lurkers, you know."

"We are here," Splinter's voice interrupted the doctor's thoughts, and Baker looked up at this tall ladder leading into the darkness above. Faint sounds of the city filtered down, while warm, moist air from the tunnel whirled steadily up to escape through the holes of the manhole cover.

Escape. He wondered if he should just make a break for it. Donna may have decided to act on her threat.

"Dr. Baker," Honeycutt gently nudged him. "I have already been up and scanned the area. There is a larger than normal presence of people on the surface, but where you are to meet your friend registers as deserted."

"Do not forget the plan, Doctor. If it appears there is danger, you have three routes of escape," Splinter reminded him, as he began the ascent up the ladder. "Keep that in mind. But I believe that we shall be all right."

Baker sighed; he was suddenly of two minds, but he had come too far. His need to see Donna had overcome his fears of all the possible outcomes.

Vaguely aware of the robot following behind him, the man climbed the cold, wet ladder into the dark, Splinter going before him like a spirit guide into the unknown.

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Karai, in position, kept watch over the scene. She had followed the woman's car with relative ease, all thanks to Dr. Chaplin.

She had shown him the tracking device that Agent Grant had provided her with. He had studied it most carefully, talking to himself as he usually did, praising it's size and construction, while scanning it with his various detection devices. Then he had rummaged his work desk and pulled out an item that was shaped like the Foot emblem. The size of a quarter, it was flat and barely noticeable in the scientist's hand. When he put it into her black-gloved one, it blended in almost at once.

__

"If you'll take my advice," he had said, "you'll plant this one on her car as well. She's bound to find this one Grant gave you-- and even if she doesn't, my little bug has a longer range that this alien toy."

Karai had watched as the woman in question found the alien bug in no time. She, too, it seemed, used a device the size of a cell phone. Karai smirked, recalling Agent Grant's boast; _ "The best alien technology available. Undetectable by anything created by humans."_

Well, Agent Grant, it seems that you have a most worthy opponent.

The Foot had spread out, keeping the location in sight but hiding at a safe distance to avoid detection. Karai was leading this personally. She had culled the herd, and was now certain that the remainders would follow loyally with no more infighting.

It was cold, but she had left her expensive coat in the limousine parked a few blocks away. She needed to be ready. She had become soft, sitting behind a desk, but that was changing as well.

Movement; the car of the agent had been parked three blocks from the meeting area, a dark alley in a nondescript street. The woman had dressed warmly and in a manner that would not arouse the suspicions of any passersby. Backpack on her shoulder, a hand in the pocket of her coat, she had calmly passed by the few brave souls still out, even as the threatened storm began to drop its first few flakes of snow.

Wind, cold and biting, swirled around Karai, perched on the ledge of a low building. Her dark hair swirled in time with the gust, but despite the chill, Karai remained stationary, like a gargoyle of old, unmoving, untouched by the elements-- well, except for the hair.

A slight movement in the alley below her caught Karai off-guard. She had known that there were at least two ways into and out of it, but the fact that none of her people had warned her that the quarry had entered...

Below two figures, bundled up, staggered together.

_Drunks_, Karai sniffed disdainfully, and watched to see where Agent Iwamatsu would hide.

But she didn't hide. On the contrary, she pulled a bottle from the bag and approached the two drunks in the alley-- the smaller of the two held back, appearing to scan the area, as if searching for prying eyes...

One of **them**!

"_Boku ni atte_," she hissed into her communicator, and within seconds her two lieutenants had joined her. "We will wait for the woman to leave. We will take both of those men-- though I suspect one may be a Turtle!"

The two silently bowed, then faded back into the shadows.

Below her, she could hear a conversation that was whispered yet heated. At one point the woman had reached out to grab the taller man, but the smaller one suddenly stiffened, then barked out a command.

"_Hashitte_!" At the same moment, he shoved the woman towards the alley entrance in one direction, while forcefully driving the man before him in the other.

Karai leaped down into the darkness, heedless of the agent. Someone had messed up; someone had been spotted, detected-- someone would pay for springing her trap without her permission!

In the winding alley she followed the sounds of a fight.

Cursed Ninja! She thought she had rid herself of the incompetent!

Drawing her sword, she came upon the combat. Three of her Foot were lying unmoving, but many more had swarmed the helpless larger man. The smaller one was making quick work of his opponents, but his clothes seemed to hinder his moves. Karai immediately placed herself in front of him, and with a quick swipe of the blade she sliced deep into the material, causing a long and wide strip to fall in such a way that the person was hard-pressed to not trip because of it.

A flash of something brown caught her eye, and an unexplained fire of hatred burned in her heart! Her mind could not grasp this sudden surge of strong emotion, but her heart had her slicing more of the clothing, only with the intent of killing.

_"NEZUMI! NEZUMI!_ Cursed _NEZUMI_!" she heard herself shouting, as the smaller figure desperately fought off the blade-- then one of her most trusted lieutenants dared to block her weapon with his own, while several of the Foot were finally able to overpower this small warrior, holding him tightly.

"What! How dare you!" she began to shout, but Tanaka withstood her wrath.

"Mistress Karai! We have the doctor! The police are on their way! That woman called for backup!"

He knew that he risked much by shouting at his Master, but she had lost control at the sight of this nezumi.

As his words penetrated the red haze of anger, her mind finally caught up to the rest of her. She stood there, panting with the after effects of her adrenaline rush, the ever-growing sound of sirens approaching rapidly. But her eyes bore into the eyes of her most hated enemy.

"Let us go," she managed, breast heaving but voice quiet.

Yet there was no mistaking the raw edge to it. She kept eye contact with Splinter even as the limo suddenly arrived at the end of the alley.

"It seems I shall be able to settle old scores tonight."

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Mikey put the finishing touches on his backpack. He felt rather like Don, preparing a bag of tricks to help him prove that Victor was alive and living at the foundry.

"Night vision goggles-- check! Camera capable of night photography-- check! Extra set of 'chukkies-- check! Shuirken-- check! Candy-- check!"

He smiled in self-congratulations, and then dressed himself warmly.

"Now, to get past Leo," he mused. He had caught his big brother playing the "I'm in charge" role earlier, when he had mentioned that he was going out to April's for something.

"Splinter said to stay in the lair," Leo had said, and Mike knew this-- but Leo's tone of voice had gotten under Mikey's shell, and it was now a matter of pride. He was going to get out and get going, and Leo "I'm the leader" nardo was not going to prevent this.

"A distraction... HOW can I stage a decent distraction?"

Klunk wandered into his room, and for a moment Mikey considered his beloved pet.

"Naw," he finally decided. "Besides, last time you didn't come near me for a week. Sorry about that, Klunkers!"

Fate lent Mike a hand at that moment. An argument between Raph and Don had broken out, and Leo was called upon to play the judge.

Mike wasted no time in trying to find out what had caused the brain and the brawn to get into a rare and vocal shouting match, was out the door and on his way in no time!

He took the roundabout way up to the garage, where he contemplated borrowing the Battle Shell-- but though it would be warmer, it was also as conspicuous as clown pants on a ninja.

"Well, Raph won't want to ride in this weather," he decided, and taking a moment to bundle up some more with the spare clothes kept up there, he put on Raph's helmet and "borrowed" Raph's bike.

Downstairs, a sudden loud "BEEEPBEEEPBEEEP" interrupted the argument-- all three froze at the sound, then as one they ran to Don's lab, where the theft was being broadcast via close-circuit.

"My BIKE!" Raph bellowed, charging towards the elevator. Leo could barely keep up, but he managed to prevent Raph from leaving.

"YOU stay here with Don!" he ordered. "I'm the one he snuck out on! I'm the one who is gonna haul his sorry ass back!"

Raph would have argued, but something in Leo's tone caught him by surprise.

"Just as long as you bring back my bike in one piece-- and I mean a RIDE ABLE piece!" he growled.

"I promise," Leo said, getting into the elevator alone. "And don't kill Don. He was right, by the way-- Dawn Wells played **Mary Ann**, NOT Ginger."

And the elevator doors snapped shut.


	37. Chapter 37

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Howdy! Wow, an update! I'm impressed. Thank you for all the kind words, especially as I've been forever updating this. I appreciate that there are still interested people and I've not driven them off!

TMNT are belong to Mirage. The OCs are belong to me.

**Camisade**

"Getcher motor runnin'... head out on the highway... lookin' for adventure... and whatever comes our way... some-thing something something some-thing-- take the world in a love embrace... fire all of our guns at once and... explode into spaaaaaaace..."

Damn, it was cold on this bike! Mike, bundled as he was, still could feel the winter seeping in. Of course, racing through the icy streets of New York City in the dark during the start of yet another storm was not helping matters.

He shrugged even as he drove. He knew it would be cold. Ah well...

"Like a true Nature's child, I was born, born to be wild! I can climb so high, I'm never gonna diiiieeee... BORRRRN to be WI-IYIYIY-LD!"

The high-pitched beeping of the communication device that was installed inside Raph's helmet nearly startled Mike into skidding through a deserted intersection. The voice that suddenly sounded in his sensitive ear put chills through him that no storm could compete with.

"Mikey! I'm gonna freakin' KILL ya! MIKEY! Answer me!"

Mike fumbled with the switch even as he continued on his way. His fingers were having a hard time activating the com-link, and he was being treated to a long and vociferous stream of abusive language and dire threats concerning the safety of "MY BIKE!"

"... yer gonna wish you'd never HATCHED! You HEAR ME????"

Success. Click.

"Sorry-- Mikey can't come to the phone right now. Leave your name and number, and he just MAY get back to you-- unless you're a hotheaded, foul-mouthed, evil-tempered bad dancer named Raphael. BEEP!"

"MIKEY! I SWEAR--"

"That's the problem, bro-- you swear-- all the time," Mike easily interrupted, as he made his way closer to his destination. It was scary; he knew there was a storm coming, but the fact that the City seemed deserted was a bit unnerving. This was New York! There's always something happening!

"Well, gotta go now, dude. Catch ya later! Thanks for calling!" the young Turtle said cheerfully. He easily (now that he could remember exactly where it was) switched off the link, effectively shutting out any further interruptions and death threats from his pissed-off brother, then killed the headlight on the bike and slowly cruised the last few blocks to the foundry.

Black as pitch; Mike, in all his years, never even remembered the sewers being this dark. The only light came from the apartments that were a safe distance from this rambling place. Mike found a safe place to stash the bike.

Digging through his "bag of tricks", he stripped off the helmet and quickly donned the night vision goggles. That made everything better.

"Correction: that makes everything pretty damn frightening," he murmured to himself. The fence and closest buildings before him stood out in eerie green-tinged circular illumination, like dull yet pulsing day-glow paint on a blacker than black canvas-- _Hey, that gives me an idea for my next project!_. No moon, just clouds. No sound except the quick rasping of his own breath.

Gulping, he got himself under control.

_You've been here before, Mikester. You know what to expect. This'll be your third encounter with that dude. Third time's the charm!_

He paused, unsure.

"As long as it's the charm for **me**, not HIM!"

Then, he stealthily made his way over the fence and to the top of the nearest building, sticking to the shadows, wary of every step, every movement.

Nothing was stirring, not even a rat. Smiling at that one, he infiltrated further into the maze of abandoned buildings, hulking and forlorn shapes that seemed to huddle to the ground, trying to ward off the cold and the now falling snow. Taking a chance, Mike entered one of the buildings, wary for any scurrying shadows that would announce his presence to their master.

Nothing. Empty even of trash, the interior as cold as the outside night, Mike strained his ears for any sound that might be floating around in there. He was careful to make no noise himself; he knew how the least little scrape would be amplified tenfold in a place like this, with nothing to absorb the sound, to muffle it effectively.

Nothing. Not even any rat poop.

_Makes sense. They'd stick to the inner buildings where they've a better chance of not being discovered,_ he reasoned, moving the length of the room and exiting through a gaping hole in the wall.

The next three buildings were the same. It was as if a cleaning crew had been hired and tidied up the place! Mike had not really examined the buildings before, but still it surprised him.

Standing in the center of the fourth building, he finally heard something-- but not what he had expected!

A battle!

Quickly he was out the building and on top of it, hopping from roof to roof. A growing sound of muffled gunshots, of loud commands and rough voices; of screaming rats, cursing men-- and the unmistakable tone of Hun!

"Shoot him again!"

Mike quickly made his way towards the sound of battle. The tallest of the buildings blocked his view, but he knew by then that whatever was going down was taking place on the other side. Leaping in the dark, he managed to grab onto a rusted fire escape. Years of corrosive weather caused the ancient metal frame to groan and shift, and for a brief second Mike thought it was going to come away from the wall. Yet he scaled it as nimbly as possible given his clothing, and soon was on the roof.

Flashlight beams waved up from the other side, tracing crazy patterns in the night, illuminating the growing flurry of falling snow. It was even more surreal when viewed through the night vision goggles. The stinging stench of something burning, coupled with the dying screams of countless rats clued Mike to the fact that flame-throwers must be in use.

Sure enough, reaching the ledge and peering down, he could see a multitude of rat bodies creating a gruesome carpet here and there. Littering the ground, too, were a few human bodies, some not moving.

Taking center stage was the man-- raging, roaring, fighting in that indescribable way of his. Hun and six or seven others had snares on him, and he was occasionally yanking a few of the more "lightweight" fellows around like a child would a yo-yo. Mike nearly gave himself away by laughing at the sight, but quickly shut up. This was not funny! More men came up and shot the creature a few times. Mike's guess at tranquilizer darts was proved correct.

"We're gonna end up killin' him, Master Hun!" one voice said. "Lookit how many darts we've used, and he's barely slowed down!"

"Just keep it up!" Hun ordered, as a few more men were able to get into a position to try and toss an extremely sturdy-looking net over the rampaging target. "He's weakening! And we're gonna be attractin' the attention of the cops if we don't end this NOW!"

Mike tried to make a count; tried to find an opening to interfere. But just as he had gotten into a position where he could distract Hun, the creature suddenly staggered under the combined effects of the drugs, the net, and the snares. He lost his balance, and was soon swarmed by Hun's men. Quickly a truck backed up, and before Mike could register it, the creature/man was dragged into the back of it, and it shot out of as fast as it dared in the growing storm.

"Quick, get the wounded and the bodies into the cars!" Hun was already getting into his own vehicle. "Straight back to HQ! We'll dispose of the dead later!"

And he was gone.

"Damn," Mike muttered aloud, heedless of the remaining men. Not that it mattered; they were preoccupied with gathering their own and getting the hell away from this damn place. Soon it was just Mikey, the snow-- and the rats.

The rats.

It suddenly occurred to Michelangelo, standing on the top of the building looking down, that the surviving rats were slowly gathering in front of him, making some sort of noise-- and looking up.

"Ummmm..."

More were joining them. The milling crowd below was slowly growing in number, heedless of the ever-increasing snowfall.

"I wonder if rats can climb?"

Mike decided to not wait to find out. Back the way he'd come, keeping to the rooftops, pausing to scan the ground, and seeing rats everywhere.

"Great. HEY! I'm not the one who took him away, okay?" he called down at the furry masses, leaping and nearly falling when his foot slipped in the loose snow that was quickly accumulating on the roof ledges.

Left. Run. Leap. Forward. Leap. Slip. Right. Leap leap leap. Forward.

The fence he'd originally scaled was in sight. It would be quite a feat, but he had to leap to the ground and make it to the fence. Already a few rats were showing up; the goggles revealed their shaggy, snow-covered bodies racing around between this last building and his goal of the fence.

Despite the temperature, he was sweating inside his coat. He'd move quicker without the clothing, but he also knew he'd freeze without it, even if he could make it to the relative warmth of the sewers. And Raph would not appreciate his leaving the bike, not even to save himself.

"On the other hand, I'm dead either way," Mike shrugged, and grinned. Then with a magnificent leap into the air, he cleared a LARGE group of rats, hit the ground hard, tucked and rolled, jumped up, and bolted for the fence! Up, over-- a loud ripping sound, a sudden tugging resistance of material on metal-- and he was clear, and heading straight for the bike.

The rats, for reasons of their own, did not follow.

"Whew!" he panted, slowing to a walk. "I need to train harder-- in clothes! That was sorta difficult. But at least I'm safe!"

He rounded the corner to where the bike was hidden-- and was greeted by the sight of an extremely pissed off Leonardo. The goggles Mike still wore showed him clear as clear just how deeply etched the anger was on his face.

"Quick!" Mike snapped, rushing to his brother. "Hun and his goons grabbed Victor! We gotta save him!"

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Man, this bites! I should be out there haulin' Mike's sorry ass back here."

"If you were out there, all you would bring home WOULD be his ass," Don pointed out. "At least with Leo, Mike has a chance to return alive."

Raph glared at Don, who shrugged it off. Glancing at the clock, he had other concerns.

"I would have thought that Splinter would be back by now," he said. Even though he was grounded, he was still allowed some freedom. His ability to visit Leatherhead had been restored, but only if Splinter were in the Lair when he left. Don knew better than to try and get past that condition. And he'd been promised a trip there once Splinter and Baker returned from this meeting.

"Well, the weather ain't too good," Raph pointed out, as a weather bulletin crossed the screen warning everyone to stay off the streets. "He's probably on his way back right now. Besides--"

Don's cell rang, and he quickly answered.

"Donatello!" came the frantic voice of Professor Honeycutt. "It was a trap! I'm afraid that Miss Karai and her ninja have captured Dr. Baker..."

Don felt his stomach flip; felt cold fear grab his heart even before Honeycutt could finish.

"... and Master Splinter!"

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Hun swore as he applied the stinging antiseptic to his many cuts, bites, and scratches. He knew that rats did not carry rabies, so he did not worry about getting shots, but he also knew just how much infection existed out there in the big bad world.

Plus that clone had gotten in a few bites as well, and God knew **what** he might catch from THAT genetic experiment of Bishop's.

"Here's your robe, Master Hun," Miller announced, entering after knocking and bringing Hun his fancy dragon-embossed garment. He also carried a small tray with a large snifter of brandy , setting it down on the nightstand and assisting his boss with the final bandaging of the wounds, then helping him on with the robe. "You want I should cancel your appointments for tomorrow?"

"Naw, we'll wait and see what the weather looks like in the morning," he replied, taking a grateful sip of the fine alcohol--yet another of his acquired tastes that he'd carefully cultivated. "Is that guy secured?"

"Yes sir. We adjusted the cage to accommodate his lying down since he's still out cold, but there ain't no way he can get outta it without killin' himself. And I got at least five guys watchin' him."

Hun nodded, taking another sip and eyeing his bed. He was tired, and if the weather didn't prevent it, he had an important meeting in the morning. Fortunately his face had escaped any injuries. He'd not have to come up with some plausible reason for any scratches and cuts.

"Damn, that was hard," he admitted, thinking on the literal battle they'd just gone through. "What's the damage?"

"Only two dead," came the answer. "We thought it was three, but Carter was only hypothermic. The rest are mainly broken bones, bites, and two bad burns."

"Idiots! You'd think by now they'd know how to handle a flame-thrower," Hun gruffed.

"And, no cops showed up," Miller finished up. "Tony and Ed stayed behind to make sure, but the weather is pretty bad, and I guess no one in the surrounding area noticed the noise.

"Good. We sure don't need the attention. Okay, tell the boys I said good job. I'm off to bed," Hun decided, draining the glass and dismissing his assistant.

Once comfortable beneath the covers, he reflected on the effort that had gone into capturing this clone. Two dead. Many injured.

That Agent Grant had better appreciate this extra "gift".

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"Father! Father! I have captured the Rat! I have secured the father of Leonardo! Soon I shall avenge you, my father, my master! Soon I will restore your Honor!"

She got up, and despite the lateness of the hour, she retreated to her bath. Dropping her robe, she dipped out the hot water from the elegant _ofuro_, sluicing it over her body, and then, seating herself on the bath stool, she soaped up and washed herself thoroughly. More water straight from the _ofuro_, and then, when every trace of soap had been removed from her fine skin, she slowly lowered herself into the deep tub, half-hissing, half-groaning in reaction to the extremely hot water.

She sat there, curving her back into the wall of the tub, allowing her eyes to close as she breathed in the steamy scent of the minerals in the water.

Soon Leonardo would be there, looking for his father. He would come alone. She was certain of it. As the leader, he would forbid his brothers from interfering in their showdown.

Leonardo. She had once considered him an ally. A friend, until he had betrayed her trust. She had admired his skill with the sword; even as she had fought with him on the spaceship, she had admired his skill.

__

She could see him before her, muscles moving beneath that leathery green skin effortlessly and smoothly as he wielded that sword... the strength behind the the weapon... the smell of him, mingled with the overpowering scents of ozone, smoke, singed fur, sweat, blood... the grip of his hand as he saved her from falling... the touch of his skin...

Abruptly she sat up, cursing herself violently and him moreso. The physical sting of the hot water as she moved suddenly was nothing to the emotional sting of his betrayal!

He had betrayed her trust! He had dishonored their friendship!

He had cost her her FATHER!

"And I will cost you YOURS, _naitsuusha_!"


	38. Chapter 38

__

Try not to panic, but yes, a rare update to the story that never ends. TMNT belong to Mirage. They were created by Peter Laird whom I've never met and Kevin Eastman whom I've met a few times. Dr. Baker, Agent Grant, and a few other ocs are mine, and I've met me a lot.

**Clarigate**

Escape would not be easy, but it was possible.

Splinter, even as he pretended to politely listen once again to the vengeance-filled soliloquy that Karai was delivering to her "helpless" captive, knew that he could escape and put much distance between himself and this place before the alarm would be sounded. Indeed, if needs be, he could make it to the closest portal and slip into the Nexus, though he preferred not to make use of that noble place as simply refuge.

"I begged Leonardo! I would have gone down on my knees had there been a chance!" she continued yet again. "And now HE will be the one to beg! He will crawl on his belly like the worm he is, crying for your safe return! But it will do him no good!"

Splinter did his best not to yawn. He kept the respectful yet cold look of attention on his face even as he turned over in his mind his options.

The guards were predictable, even under Karai's tutelage. It had not taken the Master long to learn the routine. They were arrogant, and with the arrogance came carelessness. He had managed to lift the keys from one earlier. When it was discovered that the keys were missing, the rat and his cell had been roughly yet thoroughly searched, only to find that the missing keys were lying on the floor of the corridor (_"Careless fool! It is good that you dropped them outside the cell, or Mistress Karai would have BOTH our heads!"_).

And as the one guard berated the other, Splinter had easily retrieved his keys...

Yes, it would not be easy, but escaping would be possible.

The problem was, he had no idea where Dr. Baker was. And his sense of honor held him there as if chained, until he could ascertain the location of the hapless scientist.

"... and soon, your evil son will be in my grasp!" she was winding down--_ finally_, thought Splinter, with one of those inward sighs usually reserved for when Donatello was finishing up some long-winded and technically filled response to one of Splinter's simple questions-- "I will crush him! I will crush you all!"

She glared in triumph at the _nezumi_, reveling yet again in her power over these mutants.

But the rat merely looked as he had since they had first captured him; unmoved, unafraid...

Unconcerned.

Splinter could see the anger building in her; he did not doubt that she would enter the cell herself to attack him, with many of her Foot to back her up and prevent his escape.

"Where is Dr. Baker?" he asked, and this simple inquiry was enough to distract her.

"He is no concern of yours any longer," she sniffed. "You would do well to be worried about yourself!"

"Nevertheless, I am honor-bound to protect him," he said. "What is he to you? He is hunted by others. What have the Foot to do with this man?"

"It is none of your concern!" she snapped, irritated by this turn in the conversation. "You are in no position to worry about others!"

"Why is the Foot is working for Bishop's organization?" Splinter asked. "Bishop was as much Shredder's enemy as my clan. I wonder what he would think of this situation. Why have you decided to hire out--"

"We are not for HIRE!" she screamed, and if it were not for the fact that she was dressed for a business meeting, she would have drawn her blade and relieved this captive of his mocking head. "You will pay for such slander with your life!"

Splinter shook his head, bemused.

"It seems that the list of things I will pay for with my life keeps growing," he said, sinking down to a sitting position on the floor and preparing to meditate. "I hope that I am capable of covering such a vast debt." He closed his eyes, as if dismissing her.

For a brief moment she teetered on total loss of control.

Then, from the depths of her burning anger, a familiar chiding voice sounded in her memory.

_"If you lose control, you lose power! Never forget this lesson!"_

Shredder stood over a 14-year old and angry Karai, who had failed in her training-- again-- because she had been goaded into losing her temper. That had been happening more and more, and Saki, alien though he was, knew that his daughter was acting like many humans her age.

But HE would put a stop to it, or know the reason why.

Karai's fury shut down as effectively as if a switch had been flipped. She gazed at the rat coolly, though the hatred was still there, smoldering in those eyes...

The she abruptly turned on her heel and left Splinter to his solitary meditation-- with orders to double the guard, and to make sure that no harm came to him-- "For he is MINE to destroy!"

Splinter, once the echo of her high heels faded to nothingness, allowed himself a slight chuckle.

__

Yes-- not easy, but definitely possible.

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Leo refrained from hitting Mikey again. It wasn't easy, but he managed to keep from doing it.

As they returned to the garage, both were silent and grim. But Leo had this unaccustomed "anger" towards his younger brother, and it was threatening to burst out again.

When he had found him, he had listened to Mike's frantic insistence that they had to save Victor from Hun and his Purple Dragons, and no amount of talk could convince him that "Victor is DEAD!"

Then the frantic call from Don had alerted them to the fact that Splinter was now in the hands of Karai, and Leo had had to use a LOT of self-discipline to keep himself from tearing over to that memorial library and launching a one-turtle war!

But he had managed to contain himself even as he ordered his brothers at home to prepare, all the while loading Raph's bike into the back of the Battle Shell.

Then Mike had suggested that perhaps Victor could be saved at the same time as Splinter--

POW!

Mike had not been prepared, and he hit the wall, stunned and bleeding from the mouth.

Leo, also stunned, immediately helped him up and checked the damage-- just a split lip, nothing broken, thank goodness-- and yet he still had such anger!

__

"Splinter is our ONLY concern! We go after SPLINTER! NO one ELSE! What kind of son ARE you?"

Mike's eyes, once they refocused from the blow, reflected a few emotions that struggled for control of the turtle. Hurt, worry, shame, and anger vied for dominance, and anger was leading the fight it seemed.

"I'm the kind of son that follows Sensei's rule about NOT drawing blood on brothers!" he sharply replied, knocking Leo's supporting hand away from his arm with surprising power, and those had been the last words spoken by either turtle as they made their way through the growing storm back home.

Raph and Don, gathered around Don's huge bank of computer screens with Professor Honeycutt and Leatherhead, could see there was trouble. But they didn't have time for brotherly drama.

"The bug is still in place," Don said as the two joined them. "The conversations have been mostly about Karai's uncertain temper. But I suspect that a few of the higher-up fellows suspect the plant."

"They haven't found it?" Leo asked.

"Not yet. I'm certain they suspect it, though. Only the lowly Foot use that bathroom-- until a half-hour ago, that is," Don smiled. "The one called Tanaka was in there with that little Stockman wannabe. The conversation was scripted."

And Don nearly smiled at the memory of hearing Chaplin speaking as if he were reading something-- and the sound of a page turning had only confirmed his suspicions.

"And I'm certain that he's trying to locate the bug, but so far he's not been able to find it with his own toys. And if he manages to actually stumble across it, he's gonna get quite a surprise."

"Look, let's just get over there and kick some ass and bring back Splinter!" Raph finally said. He was geared up and ready to go-- he'd been geared up and ready to go since Don had received the call.

"You mean just walk right up there and turn ourselves over to her?" Don countered. Over the initial panic of this turn of events, he calmly went over in his mind a list of things that would come in handy. Of course they would go rescue Splinter, but not with a full-out assault.

"I mean, let's get MOVIN'!" Raph snapped. "We've wasted enough time! If we coulda left as soon as the Professor here had called, she wouldn't be prepared! Why give her more time to get ready?"

"Raph, she's been ready since our return from the Utrom home world," Leo said flatly. All that "cooperation" they'd experienced so long ago-- all that backing her up in retaining control of the Foot-- well, he'd never claimed to be as wise as Sensei.

"Then how are we gonna handle this?" Raph said. "We gotta rescue him!"

"If I know Sensei, he's already forming his own plan of escape," Don put in. "It's going to look bad if we go in there, get caught, and he has to rescue us."

"It's going to look worse when Leo challenges Karai," Mike finally put in. The coldness of his tone wasn't lost on Raph and Don. But the turtle in question kept his temper.

"She's expecting us to attack," Leo needlessly pointed out. "We have to strike fast, hard, and with a single-minded goal. Get in, get out. It's not about Karai."

"What of Dr. Baker?" Leatherhead finally asked. "Are we going to try to retrieve him as well?"

"I'm betting that by now he's in the hands of his old organization," Don said grimly.

"We have no time to worry about him-- or anyone else," Leo sharply added, as if he thought that Mike would bring up his obsessive belief that Victor was alive and a prisoner of the Purple Dragons. "We get Sensei without waging a war, and then we worry about the rest."

"It is obvious that she will have Master Splinter imprisoned below ground," Honeycut said, pointing to one of the large screens where he had pulled up the blueprints for the library that he had located via the internet. "These rooms are supposed to be for reclamation and storage, but considering the building materials that are listed as part of the project, I can guarantee they are rather sturdy cells instead."

"There are a few places that she would naturally expect us to enter through," Don added, indicating several sections of sewer that had openings within easy reach of the building in question. "She will have reinforced the underground parking garage as well, if she remembers how we took Shredder's old place. I would suggest we enter here."

And he pointed.

"Her private suite?"

Leo had not realized he'd spoken. Why he felt such heat in his face he had no idea.

"She has a private elevator that runs directly to the rooms below ground," Don pointed out. "It also, however, stops on the training level, though I doubt anyone there has access to her apartments. I suspect that it's key-operated. At any rate, it'd be the best place to enter from. She won't expect that."

"Until that elevator starts movin'," Raph said. "And then her and the entire Foot Clan will fill the underground section in no time."

"She's expecting an attack from the lower levels," Leo said almost with certainty. "We give her what she expects. Don, you and Raph--"

"And me!" Honeycutt eagerly and forcefully insisted. Leo would have argued, but there was no time.

"And Honeycutt," he grudgingly agreed, "-- will enter through her apartments. Straight to the basement, don't waste time. Nothing fancy, Raph, just plain and simple. Mike and I-- and Leatherhead," he added as the giant Crocodile prepared to volunteer, "will create enough of an attack from three different directions to draw them away from the vicinity."

"And Karai? Do you think she'll be with them?" Don asked. _Or rather, do you hope she'll be with them?_

Leo didn't respond, except to say, "let's get moving."

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Grant stood in Karai's office, gazing with impassive interest at the dejected figure of Baker. The two guards were hardly needed, it seemed. But Grant was not going to give this man the chance to escape. Her own agents were present, ready to take the scientist back to HQ.

"I do not know how to thank you," Grant said to the woman seated behind the desk.

"Do not worry," came the reply. "I will be making a few suggestions on the subject at the appropriate times."

The word "times" was not lost on Grant. It appeared that the leader of the Foot envisioned a LONG list of "thank-yous".

Grant would deal with that later. Right now, she was just that much closer to bringing Bishop back from the dead.

More or less.

"It's not going to work, you know," the figure slumped helplessly said softly. "Too much degeneration. You can't regenerate the brain. Even if you can, it has lost any sense of self."

He raised his head and locked eyes with Grant.

"No conscious thought remains. It will not be Bishop."

Grant seemed unusually unconcerned.

"I will worry about that detail, Dr. Baker. You will just concern yourself with the basics."

Karai watched, hardly interested. It seemed rather profane to her, to try to resurrect the dead. But then, she had her own obsessions; far be it from her to concern herself with the unnatural obsessions of others.

"It won't work!" Baker shouted at the top of his voice! "You don't have a chance in HELL of reviving John Bishop!"

"Maybe this will help," a new voice interrupted.

It did not surprise Karai that Hun was able to enter unannounced. But she made mental note to have a brief word with Tanaka afterwards.

"Congrats on the score, _imouto_," Hun smirked as he seated himself with a familiarity that irritated the Foot leader more than his calling her "little sister". "I gather you got everything you wanted, eh Agent Grant?"

"It won't work, it won't work, it won't work," the prisoner repeated under his breath, like a mantra. Perhaps if he said it enough, this nightmare would finally break, he would awaken in his own bed, safe and sound.

"I must thank you as well," Grant said, "for introducing me to your associate here. She has managed to deliver what you could not."

Hun didn't let the dig at his failure bother him in the least.

"True. My organization spent countless months searching, but we weren't able to catch him for you," he admitted, still wearing the slight smirk of one who had a secret. "But I think that my boys and I have found something else that might be of great use to you in your-- project."

And at that moment, four of his toughest fighters, surrounded by eight of Karai's ninja, carried in a heavy object on a stretcher.

At least, it appeared to be a stretcher, except for the bodyshaped cage surrounding the massive figure hidden under the sheet. Hun got up and pulled the cover from the unconscious figure. Grant stared at the face, at first puzzled-- and then a growing recognition began to show itself in her eyes.

Karai rose from her desk, curious, while Baker wondered what other poor soul had been tracked down by this cold-blooded woman.

And then he got a look at the face.

"The Prototype!"

Grant, some doubt still lingering within her, sighed with satisfaction at the pronouncement of Dr. Baker. It WAS the Prototype!

"How did you find it? Where?" Grant became animated, almost joyful. "How is this possible? The Prototype was destroyed by Bishop. I have the video log that showed him activating the fail-safe! Yet it's alive! Its brain has regenerated!"

The whys and wherefores were quickly replaced by the plans that suddenly came to her.

With the Prototype, regenerating Bishop would be that much easier! Coupled with her own secret surprise, a secret that she had kept from everyone, including the doubting Dr. Baxter Stockman...

She sharply turned to Baker with such a look of determination and naked ambition that he shrank back in fear.

"We have work to do, Doctor," she said, and without further comment she led the way from Karai's office to her waiting car.

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__

They searched everywhere, but their friend was gone.

Yet amid the scents of the intruders they could still track him; they squeaked and chirped, hissed and peeped, with the occasional shriek sounding from the more stressed. And as they milled all over their territory, searching and scenting and fussing and fighting, one thought began to control their actions, to drive their direction:

Find their friend.

Like a furry river, they began to move in a general direction, down into the nearest hole, through the tunnels and pipes, surfacing occasionally to scent out the trail, stretching out with their minds...

Seeking their friend.

Their King.


	39. Chapter 39

_Happy New Year! Hope you are all healthy and happy in 2008!_

_TMNT are the property of Mirage. Certain Foot and Dr. Baker are mine. That and a dollar fifty will buy you a Diet Coke._

**Calthrops**

It had not taken Splinter long to find the blind spot of the security cameras. He had merely to sit in meditation position in the back of the cell, close to the center of the wall, and not move. In no time, his two "favorite" guards were there, checking to see if he were still a prisoner.

"Trouble?" he politely inquired, as the guards frantically shined a flashlight into the dark and dimly lit cell, training the beam on the bemused rat.

"Mind your tongue, freak!" the larger of the two threatened, more for show than for anything else. Then he turned to his partner, addressing him (foolishly) in Japanese. _"See? No need to panic-- even though you HAVE lost those damn keys again!"_

_"He needs watching!"_ the other insisted. _"I am certain he has my keys! And he is clever enough to find a blind spot--"_

_"Fool! He's an animal! He may be able to fight, but he is hardly intelligent enough to have avoided capture! Otherwise he would never have shown himself above ground where he must have known we were waiting."_ And he spat more or less in Splinter's direction.

The Rat never flicked so much as a whisker during their exchange.

_"We should search him anyway!" _the smaller guard insisted, and snatching the larger's keys, he proceeded to unlock the cell, drawing his blade and keeping it ready. "You! Stand up! Strip!"

Splinter bit back a remark about needing the proper music, and complied meekly with the not-so-gentle searching of the guard.

The keys were nowhere to be found in that entire cell or on the Rat.

_"See? You are a fool! How you manage to remain in the Mistress's good graces I've no idea!" _sneered the first. Without another word he left the cell, locking it and stalking quickly away from this worthless prisoner.

Splinter retrieved the keys once again. He had managed to hide them on the smaller guard, then relieve him of them just as easily. Shaking his head, he returned to meditation.

He would give his sons time to act; then he was, in the words of the ancient master, "busting out of this joint".

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He hated the cold. He hated New York.

But soon he would be returning to Japan! The Mistress had approved his request to go back to Tokyo and resume his work there. He could not wait!

But until then, he had to patrol the outside of this "library", keeping an eye out for the kame.

Japan had no such oddities as talking nezumi and kame ninja. He longed for the traditional battles between the Foot and the Yakuza. He smiled at the memory of one such encounter; he personally had eliminated four of the best the mob boss had to offer, and all before any alarm could be sounded. He had earned the respect of his leader, and even the great Oroku Saki had given him a "well done".

And though he was loyal to the daughter, he had hated every minute of his time in this "city".

He hated New York.

In the shadows, he caught sight of one of the others, and moved to join him. From the size, he guessed it was Hattori; the man had certainly grown fat! Too much of this Western food, no doubt, he disdainfully sniffed. Why the Mistress allowed him to show himself when he was obviously--

He barely had time to register the fact that "Hattori" seemed to be aiming a _fukiya_ at him when the dart caught him in the neck.

The _futoi_ "Foot" soldier caught him even as the paralysis took hold of him. No sound could escape him, he was helpless as he was dragged into the dark shadows and concealed behind some crates.

"Don't worry-- you won't freeze to death," came the rough whisper from the black-clad warrior. "The drug'll wear off before then. And when you do, congratulate me. You're the sixth guy I've taken out, and no alarm yet! It's a new record for me."

And then Raphael went about his business of taking out the fringe guard.

Three more fell to his _fukiya_; three more were hidden away. As he drew closer to his target of the delivery entrance, he tucked the blowgun away and pulled from behind him the _kusarigama_ that he had strapped to his back. This entrance was guarded by four more Foot. Nothing stood between the shadows of his hiding place and the target. He was going to have to go carefully here. The darts would not have done him any good at this distance, but he was itching for a real fight.

Carefully getting into position, he waited until one of the guards was almost on him-- then the chain snaked out, catching the Foot around the throat. With a powerful yank, the ninja was pulled off-balance and towards the turtle in black, even as the curved blade descended.

The man had no chance to make a sound.

"One down, three to go," Raph allowed himself a chuckle, even as he boldly took the guard's place and made his way in the open towards the delivery bay.

He was almost to his target when the guard closest to the opening realized that this was not one of their members. The chain snaked out quickly; the weighted end caught him square in the face, before any alarm could be sounded. There was the muffled thunk of metal against bone, and the guard dropped without a sound.

The other two jumped Raph, and for a few brief moments there was nothing but hand to hand to hand combat. Little puffs of steam where hot blood landed on the freezing ground rose up like mini smoking volcanoes. Sword against chain; sword against scythe; weapon against flesh.

Raph threw both of his attackers from him, then gripping the chain end swung the _kusarigama_ in a deadly circle around him before launching a flying kick at the closer of the two, landing on his feet as he finished off the guard. The scythe back in his hand, he spun and blocked the descending swing of the other guard's sword. The guard had been so eager to finish off this intruder that he had left himself wide-open; the chain, already wrapped around Raph's other hand, made the life-ending punch to the face that much more powerful.

Quickly he moved to his target, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth and the stings of various cuts that were now making themselves known. The delivery truck parked just inside was perfect. He attached his package on the fuel tank, set the timer, and headed out as silently as he had come. The sounds from the distance alerted him to the fact that more Foot were on their way.

Well, then, the more that were there when it went off, the better!

"It's set," he muttered into a com link, and within two minutes he was joined by Leatherhead.

"They are on the roof even now," came the answer to the unasked question. Raph nodded grimly, thinking how he was cutting it fine-- he had to get there as well, and it wasn't going to be easy. And to tell the truth, he was not looking forward to using this new toy of Don's.

"Honeycutt will cut the perimeter alarms in another two minutes," the crocodile informed him, even as he helped Raph out of the fake Foot outfit and into a special harness. "You must ascend as quickly as possible. By my calculations, the cable should get you almost to the helipad. From there you will have to trust to Donatello's being able to drop you a rope.

"This had better work, or else I'm gonna kick all yer sorry tails," Raph grumbled. The crocodile merely smiled, even as he took aim with what looked like a sawed-off shotgun.

Three beeps sounded from his com link; Leatherhead depressed a button. There was a hollow popping sound, and a thin black something ascended like a flying snake straight up until it reached its full length, attaching the end into the fine stonework of the building. Raph tested the cable. Then he waited as Leatherhead snapped the recoil device to the front of the harness.

"Good luck, my friend."

"You too, L.H."

With the press of another button, the Turtle was lifted off the ground quickly. He kept his front to the building, climbing spikes at the ready. He knew that he'd have to detach before he got to the very end of this cable-- and he was not looking forward to that moment...

Five minutes later he saw the grinning face of Don peering over the edge. The turtle helped his brother up and over the ledge of the helipad. The wind was really blowing up here; no danger of anyone flying in tonight.

"See? I told you it'd work," the brainy turtle gloated. "Did you destroy it so the boy genius can't steal the idea?"

"You have ta ask?"

They took up their positions near their entrance of choice and waited.

Near the side entrance, two Foot were on alert-- they knew it was only a matter of time before the Kame would make an attempt to free their Master.

Well-hidden, they were still seen by a third person.

_Shuirken_ suddenly sliced through the cold air, nicking each of the Foot just enough to catch their attention and draw blood.

The taller of the two gave a silent signal, and ten more suddenly appeared from the surrounding area, following the first as he charged in the direction the _shuirken_ had come from.

Their night vision was good-- but not good enough. They had gone barely ten feet into the dark alleyway when their footwear was cruelly pierced by numerous _tetsu-bishi_. Involuntary cries of pain escaped even the most well-trained, and they desperately tried to pull the damaging calthrops from their heavily bleeding feet.

Then the smoke pellets exploded among them, causing much confusion. When the first impact of something heavy swung against the forearm of the leader, shattering the bone with such force that the man, falling onto more of the _tetsu-bishi_, barely noticed the stabbings he was in such pain! His scream of agony added to the noises of the fight; curses, grunts, gasps, moaning accompanied the whooshing and thudding sounds of expertly wielded nunchuka versus the blades of crippled and half-blinded Foot soldiers.

Then it was over.

Mike, eyes shielded from the blinding smoke by special night goggles and his own feet well-protected against the crippling _tetsu-bishi_, emerged from the thinning smoke and boldly made his way to the back door, where he set the charges as Don had directed.

"Let's hope Raphie-boy got his own charges set," he murmured. Timing was everything, and Mike didn't want a Leo-Lecture about why the explosions didn't go off at the exact same moments.

_"How many times must I repeat myself?" _he could imagine that tone of voice Leo got when playing the put-upon leader whose plan did not come off exactly 100 the way he'd intended. Arming the timer, he immediately faded into the dark again, silently counting down and amusing himself further with an exasperated older brother pontificating on how _"99.9 isn't good enough! Why can't you get that through your heads?"_

Leo had made such short work of his own guards that he began to suspect it was a trap; that Karai knew he was there, and was drawing him in.

They would have little time. Once the charges went off, the city would become aware. They had to strike as quickly as possible and free Splinter. This would not be as it was when they had taken out Shredder's original place. There would be no helpful Guardians to join the battle. And the police and fire departments were much quicker at investigating such explosions than they used to be...

Leo pushed it from his mind as he took up his position directly in front of the library. Karai, he was sure, would investigate herself. He was counting on it.

Once the doors went, he would head directly to her office if needs be. He had to draw her out and away.

He had to fight her!

_"Honor demands that I revenge my father!"_ He heard her voice in his head as clearly as if she were standing in front of him. Once again the scene replayed itself, unbidden by him: she had prevented him from going to Splinter's aid-- he had saved her from falling to her death-- she had taken his sword and driven it into his shoulder--

He forced the frustration and anger down, buried it deep down, and focused on the front entrance. Soon it would be go-time.

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The explosions rocked the lower floor with such precision that tears came to Don's eyes.

"I am so good," he preened as they entered Karai's chambers and located her private elevator.

"Get over yourself," came the brotherly advice as they waited for Professor Honeycutt to override all the security involving the elevator.

In Karai's office, the woman and her lieutenant were quick to act. Grabbing the sword of her father, she led the way out to the main floor-- where the smoke and dust and debris blocked her view of the front entrance.

She hissed an order, while security scrambled to join her; powerful flashlights illuminated the billowing clouds-- and soon a familiar shape appeared dark in the glare of the lights.

"Anyone home?" came the hated sound of her enemy's voice.

"Leonardo. You are such a fool. Attack!"

Quickly they vanished into the ever-growing cloud of smoke. Karai watched as brief flashes of light escaped, wild and uncontrolled like lightning.

Sound was all that indicated a battle was taking place.

"Mistress!" came a shouted voice from behind her. A soldier appeared, knelt. "The delivery bay is under attack! We have already lost many men!"

"Mistress! panted another bringer of bad news. "The side entrance has been breached by more of these ninja! A large group has invaded and taken control of the--"

More explosions went off deep in the building. More shouting, more running feet as the bulk of Karai's soldiers were roused from their sleeping quarters and hurried into the defense of the clan stronghold.

"There are at least a dozen fighters in the delivery bay!" a third voice announced, gasping for breath as he approached and collapsed, the blood from strange wounds staining the floor and Karai's booted feet. "They have a monster with them..."

"Fools! They have no such army!"

The sound of the fight before her suddenly ceased. Karai stood, trying to pierce this strange smoke with her sharp eyes. Nothing stirred before her, though the sounds of other battles filtered into the room, echoing around and around the huge chamber that was the main public room.

She gripped her sword, all the while staring-- willing the smoke to part.

As if by her command, a swirl of air from the opened door revealed Leonardo. The floor was littered with the dead and dying. She could almost hear the blood drip from his katana, while his own piercing eyes locked with hers. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight-- he was terrible to behold, a warrior of great skill-- he stood in the smoke, the blood of his conquest painting him with the awful truth of his victory.

His breathing was heavy, but not strained. And his eyes never wavered from hers.

She drew up her sword, got into battle stance. Her own breathing seemed to sync itself with the Turtle's. He held his own stance, his eyes still locked with hers-- even as the smoke once again swallowed him up.

"No!" she cried out, and before her second-in-command could act, she charged into the cloud to reclaim her father's honor.

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Once the elevator doors opened onto the floor where training took place. Many startled ninja, in various stages of dress, blinked in shock as they realized that the Kame were in the Mistress's private conveyance.

"Oops! Wrong floor!" Honeycutt apologized, and the doors snapped shut just as five Foot soldiers charged them.

Inside the elevator, they could hear the sound of bodies slamming into the doors as they restarted their descent.

"My apologies," the professor said again. "But I believe that the infamous Doctor Chaplin is attempting to regain control of the systems."

The next time the doors opened, they were in the basement-- facing about a dozen waiting Foot.

"Yee-ha!" Raph cried, and was among them before they could blink.

Don, keeping the professor behind him, whipped his _hanbo_ from behind him-- he had decided against his favorite weapon on this trip-- and he'd been wanting to get in some practical work with this. He shook out the twin chains that were concealed at each end, and began his own attack. Such was the speed with which he spun the three-foot bo that even the Professor could not clearly see the blows landing from the chains-- though he could register the blood flying in graceful arcs away from the weapon. Indeed, it appeared that as Donatello twirled the weapon that blood was issuing from it, like a powerful lawn sprinkler.

And the two turtles pushed the decreasing crowd of Foot backwards down the narrow hall until there was no one before them---

Except Splinter.

"About time," the rat said, carefully relocking his prison and depositing the keys on the unconscious form of the guard to whom they belonged.

"You're welcome," Raph smiled, as they made their way to the parking garage. The plan was to exit that way and down the closest manhole, drawing off any pursuers.

Though the battle had been so swift and bloody, there were few willing to follow them. Though they fought in the garage with many more ninja, they found that there was little desire by their enemies to lure them into the sewers. Too many recalled what had happened to the others who had tried such an attack.

After fifteen minutes, Donatello and the Professor confirmed that no one was following them.

In another fifteen, they met up with Leatherhead and Michelangelo, who grabbed his father in a bear hug and swung him around once before the Rat commanded that he be put down.

"Yes, I am glad to see you all," Splinter replied to his youngest's question. "And yes, I am all right. But I cannot say the same for the unfortunate Dr. Baker."

"Mike, you can take those off now," Don said, pointing to the specially reinforced "tabi boots" that he had prepared for his brother.

"Actually, I like them!" the turtle grinned, holding up one foot. "I think I'll start wearing them all the time! Only they need something to make them more attractive. Black is such a somber color."

"Where is Leonardo?"

Raph exchanged looks with Mike. The others looked uneasy.

"You don't suppose he stayed behind," he voiced. "You know, unfinished business..."

"After the damn lecture we got about get in and get out?" Mike huffed. "He'd better not be there still!"

"Yeah, but he also claimed the right to draw off and distract Karai," Don said. The group without discussion began to travel in the general direction back towards the Foot's headquarters.

"Hey!" a voice reached them before they got far. "Where are you going? I said head straight back to the Lair, and we'd meet up on the way!"

Leo, behind them, looked as if he were to deliver yet another lecture on following orders, but Splinter cut him off.

"Let us return home quickly," he said, taking the lead. "We must plan how to rescue Doctor Baker."

Raph fell behind until he was shoulder to shoulder with Fearless Leader.

"So? Did you fight her?" he asked in a low whisper, eyeing the blood-coated Leonardo.

He watched a muscle in Leo's jaw twitch. Leo's eyes briefly closed, then opened as he took a deep breath, letting it go slowly.

"No. I almost did. But no." A pause, and a humorless smile formed on his lips. "You should have heard the things she called me when she realized I wasn't standing there waiting for her, though."

"That bad, eh?"

"Raph, she used words I've never heard **you **use before."

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_The rats made their way into Karai's place; the scent of blood briefly activated their hunger and distracted them from their goal. But the Foot were quick to drive them away from the dead and wounded. There were too many for the rats at the moment._

_But **he** had been there; his scent was mingled there in the mix of blood, sweat, smoke, and fear. **He** had been there._

_The scent was heaviest in this underground area, where many other smells struggled to overpower **his**_ scent. They followed it as far as they could, until the trail vanished at street-level.

_Yet they could feel him calling; calling them to follow._

_And they did._


End file.
